


Blazing Trinity

by metalloverben



Category: Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken | Fire Emblem: Blazing Sword
Genre: Adaptation, Gen, Novelization
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-05 02:58:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 46,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13378689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metalloverben/pseuds/metalloverben
Summary: When the world of Elibe is threatened by an ancient darkness it falls to four young heroes, the Lycian Lords Lyn, Eliwood, Hector and their dour strategist Mark, to stand firm in the face of chaos and madness. Once more the blood of heroes rises to defend the realm! A loose adaptation of Nintendo's classic Fire Emblem game – Blazing Sword.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god it’s finally happening! Ladies and Gentlemen, my attempted novelization of the game that started it all, Fire Emblem (Blazing Blade)! As always I have strove to write this so that people with no background knowledge of the game can read and enjoy it. But if you enjoy this story then please consider dropping a few bucks on Nintendo's e-store to try it out. It’s really a great game.  
> I swear to Naga and the Light and whatever else that I will eventually finish this story. No matter how long it takes. But Blazing Blade was a LOT longer than Awakening, so this… this is gonna take a while.

A beautiful sea of green grass waving in the wind spread out in all directions, the overhead sun in the brilliant blue sky painting everything beneath it with its benevolent radiance. A few trees dotted the horizon, but apart from that all around was a sea of green melting into a vast and seemingly endless ocean of blue.

Not even a cloud passed before the sun to offer the weary traveller trudging through the scenic beauty of the Sacaen plains any respite from the beating heat.

Still he plodded along, unwilling to even take off and carry his beloved brown coat, so large on his lanky frame it almost resembled a mage’s robe, suffering in silence in the name of his favourite garment.

“Argh! It’s so freaking hot! I mean seriously! With all this grass you’d think there’d be some bloody water around! This is worse than a desert!”

Well… the figure plodded along in near silence.

The solitary figure ran a hand through his scruffy brown hair, attempting to keep the sweat-soaked strands out of his face. He wore plain travelling clothes beneath the coat, momentarily visible as he reached up, an unadorned leather vest over a cream shirt two sizes too big and brown trousers; the only interesting things to note about the boy were the pouch at his hip and his thin, elegant rapier strapped opposite it.

He let out another sigh, stopping dead in his tracks and sinking to a sitting position, arms out behind him as he stared up at the endless blue sky.

Mark, all of eighteen and full of the reckless brand of confidence youth instils in young men, had set out from home with barely a backwards glance and shouted farewell to his family, so eager he was to live up to the incredible legacy of his family.

“Maybe leaving home so early wasn’t such a great idea, after all…” he muttered.

His mother had warned him against it, even going so far as to forbid him until he was ‘ready’. So, deciding that he knew best, he’d snuck out with just a note left behind. Now he had the coat and the sword and he’d gone off on an adventure to become a great tactician, just like his mother had, his uncle and aunt had, and their father had, and his mother had, and so on and so forth. Generations of his family, tacticians and adventurers and heroes, the lot of them.

And, just like all of their adventures apparently started, he had absolutely no idea where he was. Or where he was going. Or what he was going to do when he got there.

But, according to his Grandmother, that was a familial trait, and according to his Aunt, that was part of the fun.

Mark let himself fall backwards with a soft thump, his arms stretched out on the blanket of grass and idly wondering where he would find water to fill his empty waterskin or food to fill his empty stomach as he stared upwards and let out a mighty yawn.

He really was exhausted from all the walking…

* * *

Mark blinked himself awake a few hours later.

A momentary panic gripped him, sending him shooting into a sitting position and coming face to face with a young girl, her arms laden with bowls and a surprised look on her face matching the one on Mark’s.

They stared at each other for a few moments, Mark unable to think about anything besides how strikingly beautiful the girl was, until she smiled at him and set down the bowls. He wasn’t ashamed to say that her smile made him a little giddy, but when he calmed himself he realised that it didn’t reach her lovely green eyes.

Her features were sharp, yet soft at the same time; he attributed the sharpness to those piercing eyes that matched her strange shirt-dress… thingy that covered her upper-arms yet left her perfect, toned legs bare, split up the sides almost to her hips. Her long dark-green hair was tied back in a neat ponytail that reached almost to her waist, the hair itself silken and shining, despite clearly not having been washed properly in some time.

In the light of the tent’s single oil lamp Mark wasn’t afraid to admit that the stranger looked like an angel.

“Good, you’re awake,” she said to him in a soft voice as she moved to his side, moving to sit next to the bedroll he was in. “I found you unconscious on the plains. You know there are better places to fall asleep than in the middle of a field, right?”

“But this whole nation’s one giant field…” Mark said weakly, still held in rapture by her beauty.

The girl looked at Mark uncomprehending for a moment before chuckling a little and smiling that fake smile again.

“So it is,” she said. “But it’s not safe to do so. There are bandits everywhere these days.”

Her tone dropped and she looked away as she made her warning, sending alarm bells ringing in Mark’s mind.

“Er… right,” he nodded, scooting away from her a little.

He glanced around the… tent? Why was he in a tent? His sword sat over to one side atop his neatly folded coat. He was… in a bedroll?

“Did… you bring me here?” he asked slowly when the girl remained silent, staring off into space.

She glanced up at him, nodding once at his query.

“Thanks?” he said, her behaviour confusing him.

“I’m Lyndis!” the girl said quickly, realising she’d been staring into space. “I’m… I am from the Lorca Tribe. But… my friends called me Lyn.”

Mark had to work hard to contain his curiosity at her use of the past tense as he extended a hand to her and put on his own fake smile, still unsure as to what she wanted from him. It wasn’t like he had much money, and he didn’t even know if they would take the silver coins or single lonely gold coin at the bottom of his pouch, both from his homeland, here. Wherever here was.

“I’m Mark,” he said, speaking levelly.

Lyn looked at the appendage for a moment before grasping it. Mark pumped their hands up and down a few times, marvelling at the strength of her hands despite their small size, and the roughness of the skin on her palms obviously born from years of training with a blade. They were the same type of hands his mother and aunt had, and that thought put Mark at ease a little.

He remained on guard once they separated again, though. She was still a stranger, after all.

“Mark,” Lyn repeated, turning the word over in her mouth a few times as if testing its taste. “Mark… that is foreign, yes?”

He nodded an affirmative.

“It is a strange name…” Lyn muttered to herself, before looking up when she realised she had spoken aloud.

“Oh, but it is a good name!” she said hastily when she noticed Mark’s raised brow. “Please, pay me no mind!”

“Uh-huh,” he said, unsure whether making fun of her name, too, would get him stabbed or not.

“So what brings you to Sacae, Mark?” Lyn asked, her eyes brightening a little for the first time since Mark had started speaking to her. “Would you share your story with me?”

He shrugged, deciding to be upfront about his reasons for travelling. “Honestly? I’m just wandering around. I’ve been training to be a tactician my whole life, and I figured I was due for some real world experience. So I’ve been trying to find a mercenary band or something to work for. It’s… well, you saw me passed out in the middle of the field. I’m lost.”

Lyn burst out laughing at his frank admission, practically rolling onto her back as she held her sides, Mark waiting patiently for the girl to finish.

“So I assume, then, that you have not eaten?” she said, her tone still tinged with mirth.

Mark nodded woodenly, completely overcome with how radiant she looked when she smiled honestly like this. Then his thoughts turned to more pressing concerns as the scent of whatever was in those bowls wafted over to him with a fresh breeze from outside the tent.

Lyn perked up, her expression changing in a flash as she glanced behind her.

“Wait here,” she said quietly, her tone brokering no disagreement.

In one fluid motion she rose to her feet and grabbed for a beaten-up old sword near the tent’s entrance, stepping outside into the night.

_Night?_ Mark thought as he scratched his head. _How hungry was I that I passed out all afternoon?_

After a few seconds Lyn returned, her face stormy as she entered the small tent.

“Bandits,” she said, spitting the word as if it were a curse.

“What?” Mark asked, shakily climbing out of the bedroll.

“They must have come down from the Bern Mountains,” Lyn explained, obviously half thinking aloud. “They’re obviously planning to raid the nearby villages…”

She glanced up, meeting Mark’s eyes. The passion in her gaze nearly knocked him flat.

“I have to stop them,” she said with fire blazing in her piercing eyes.

Mark froze as Lyn turned and strode confidently from the tent. He grinned, shaking his head a little and following after her.

“Wait for me!” he called out softly, slipping his coat on in one fluid motion and grabbing his rapier. As an afterthought he grabbed one of the bowls Lyn had prepared, drinking the weak broth as he rushed after her.

Fortunately she hadn’t gone far, crouching behind a small copse of trees standing forlorn and alone in the plains with her sword already in hand. She noticed him almost as soon as he stepped out of the tent and waved the would-be tactician over.

“What are you doing?” she asked in a hushed whisper once he crouched down next to her.

Mark shrugged innocently as he carefully placed the now-empty wooden bowl down near the tree where it would be safe.

“Tactician can’t fight on an empty stomach,” he said with a grin. “I’ll pay for the soup later. Haven’t we got bandits to slay?”

Lyn’s eyes went wide, her mouth working a moment without making any sound. Clearly he had surprised her.

“You… you would help me?” she asked incredulously. “You… know that I cannot pay you, nor guarantee your safety, Mark. You do not even know me!”

“What’s life without a little risk?” he asked, drawing his rapier. “Besides, this is what I wanted! Life experience.”

Lyn’s shocked expression changed into one of deep gratitude as she nodded.

“Very well,” she said, turning to face the bandits again. “Thank you. Stay close to me.”

Mark nodded, edging closer to the trees with Lyn. Three bandits, obviously some sort of scouting force, were wandering through the plains with seemingly little objective. Forward scouts, then, Mark decided. Bandits were supposed to be similar to mercenaries; they fought in bands and groups, the smarter ones sending advance scouts to ensure that their path was clear of danger.

“We need to get closer,” Lyn muttered.

“We can’t,” Mark said. “There’s no cover. The second we step out from behind these trees we become targets.”

Lyn nodded.

“So, tactician?” she asked him with an excited grin over her shoulder. “What is our plan?”

Mark couldn’t help but return her grin.

“Rush ‘em and try not to die?” he suggested, earning a strange look from Lyn.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Mark huffed, pointing to the three bandits clearly illuminated by the moonlight. “There’s three of them spread out and no cover. You rush the closest one and take him by surprise, then I’ll jump out and take the second one when he comes charging to his friend’s aid, and we’ll both gang up on the last one. Like my teacher always said, ‘brilliant tactics don’t necessarily need to be complicated; the more you cram in, the more can go wrong’.”

Lyn nodded her understanding.

“They sound truly wise,” she said respectfully.

Mark nodded, grinning again. “Are we doing this?”

Lyn nodded, too, her beautiful face setting into a firm scowl.

“Right,” Mark said, his voice dropping to a whisper as the closest bandit drew nearer. “Rush out, keep low, and keep quiet. Once you take him, get the next one’s attention and once he rushes over I’ll jump out, too.”

“Understood,” Lyn said, darting out from behind the tree at the nearest bandit.

It was like nothing Mark had ever seen before, watching Lyn fight. She moved silently, so close to the ground she was skimming just above the blades of grass like the wind. The bandit, a shirtless man easily three times the girl’s size was looking right at her, but he didn’t see the silent and wrathful girl until she had already run him through in a show of blistering speed. Her sword danced two more times and the bandit fell with barely a sound.

In fact she was so fast and silent that the other two hadn’t noticed her.

Mark let out an involuntary laugh as her confused expression changed to slightly embarrassed understanding when she realised this, which had the effect that they had been looking for by killing the first of the bandits. The other two turned towards Lyn, spotting her light green dress against the purple backdrop of the starlit night as she stood over their fallen comrade.

“Okay,” Mark muttered to himself, his grip on his sword tightening as he carefully controlled his breathing in anticipation. “Just like practice; flow through the motions. Flow through the motions… I can do this!”

The other two bandits rushed over, Lyn stepping back and adopting a defensive posture in preparation to meet their charge. As soon as Mark judged that the nearest was close enough, another shirtless man built like a brick wall wielding an axe, the tactician sprinted out.

Using the techniques his teachers had drilled into him Mark spun on his forward foot, bringing his thin sword down from shoulder-height on the surprised bandit and opening the man’s torso with his spin. He barely had a chance to scream before Mark arrested his spin and flicked his sword back, slicing the bandit’s throat open.

“This is too easy!” Mark laughed, grinning at Lyn as his confidence grew.

His grin faltered when he noticed the look of fear on Lyn’s face, making him glance over his shoulder and curse.

“Oh boy…” he managed to mutter moments before flying through the air after being struck full-force in the side by the angry bandit leader.

“Mark!” Lyn cried, roughly throwing herself at the hulking bandit and being dealt a similar blow by the big man’s back-swing.

Lyn gasped, falling away from the bandit and doing her best to roll away from him. Mark could do little more than lay there, waiting for the stars to clear from his vision and his head to stop spinning.

“Who do you think you are!?” the bandit shouted angrily. “Do you think you can stand up to Batta the Beast!?”

Mark let out an involuntary snicker at the bandit’s lame nickname, probably thought up by himself. His laugh made him wince as pain shot through his ribs. The bandit spun on the prone tactician, his face turning red in his rage as he forgot Lyn entirely and began to stomp back towards Mark.

“Yeah, funny,” he growled. “Let’s see how well you laugh when I cut out your tongue, little man.”

The bandit let out an enraged howl, lurching to the side as Lyn leapt onto his back sword-first, managing to get the old weapon to pierce the bandit’s thick leather armour.

“Mark! Run!” she cried desperately. “Please! You must flee-”

Whatever else she was going to say was cut off when Batta reached over his shoulder and finally caught a hold of Lyn’s dress, throwing her over his head to land on top of Mark in a heap. Mark cursed again as all the air was forced from his lungs, barely rallying in time to throw Lyn off of him and roll the opposite direction as Batta brought his axe down where they had been lying a moment ago.

A real sense of fear and dread rose up in Mark’s chest as he came up onto one knee, looking into the snarling, bestial face of the bandit as he loomed over the young girl.

“Hold still, ya Nomad tart!” Batta snarled, hefting his axe and turning towards Lyn.

Mark shook his still-spinning head and rose shakily to his feet. Lyn was doing likewise across from him, but with a much more determined set to her features. In fact the intensity to her beautiful face was almost feral; it was one of the most terrifying things Mark had ever seen, up there with his mother and aunt fighting.

“Be gone from this place!” she shouted, readying her sword and foolishly charging Batta head-on again.

Mark groaned in irritation, readying his own sword and running at the bandit as quietly as he could, slipping his razor-sharp rapier through the bandit’s leather armour easily and running him through before he realized where Mark was. Lyn took advantage of Batta’s distraction as the bandit reached around to swipe at the smaller man and slashed her old sword across his throat, and the bigger man finally fell.

“Jeez, it was like fighting a mountain!” Mark complained loudly, falling down into a sitting position.

Lyn nodded, staring down at the bandit’s corpse.

“I’m sorry,” she said at length, her disappointed tone of voice making Mark glance up again.

“I sorely underestimated them,” she said. “I… I need to be stronger if I’m going to survive. If you hadn’t been here…”

“We’d both be dead,” Mark sighed, cutting her off. “You, killed by bandits. Me, dead from starvation lying on a plain somewhere.”

Lyn looked at Mark curiously a moment before breaking into a tired smile.

“You are right,” she said, before a look of fear crossed her face again and she rushed to the tactician’s side.

“Hold, I saw you take a blow that would have cloven most men in half! Are you alright? Let me see your wounds…”

“Huh? Wounds?” he asked, thinking back as the girl’s hands started probing at his side.

“There’s… no blood…” she whispered in awe.

“Argh! It still hurts, though! Stop poking!” Mark cried out.

“How is this possible?” Lyn asked, wide eyed.

“My coat’s reinforced,” Mark explained, sitting up a little and gingerly rubbing his side. There was a large hole in the outer layer of the coat now, revealing the second layer beneath. “It’s lined with hardened leather plates. Heavy, but it offers extra protection. I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m not much of a fighter.”

Lyn looked at the brown leather clothing with a newfound respect before carefully helping Mark to his feet.

“Come,” she said. “Let’s go back to the tent.”

* * *

The next morning Mark turned over, reluctant to allow wakefulness to get its claws into him, however he conceded to it once he realised he was already mostly conscious again, anyway.

He lay there on his side, using his coat as a make-shift blanket and replaying the events from the previous night in his mind. He had killed two people last night; it was the first time he’d ever taken a life, and he was ashamed to admit he’d barely even hesitated to do it. He also kept playing back the pained look Lyn had adopted once the fighting was done. He had no idea what had happened to the girl to make her look so haunted or throw herself so recklessly at her foes, but he had decided that he wanted to help her. And not just because she was pretty. Well… mostly not just because she was pretty.

Sighing a little he slowly sat up, doing his best to ignore the ache in his ribs from the previous evening. He would have to track down a needle and some thread now to repair his coat, too…

“Good morning, Mark,” Lyn said cheerily from the other side of the tent. “Good to see you awake. That fight last night must have taken a lot out of you; the sun has already been up for a few hours.”

The young tactician nodded and yawned, stretching his arms above his head and wincing at the twinge from his ribs.

“I’d say it was more the axe than the fighting itself…” he muttered, rubbing his side. “How are you holding up?”

“I am fine,” Lyn assured him, laughing a little. “I am used to far worse.”

Mark nodded, and Lyn stood as she passed him a bowl of the same broth from the previous evening. He wasn’t about to complain, though; he was still ravenously hungry.

“Man, I feel like I haven’t eaten in weeks!” He said, sipping from the bowl. “It really tastes great. Thank you, Lyn.”

“It is my pleasure, Mark,” she smiled, returning back to her sitting position near the tent’s entrance.

Lyn grew quiet while Mark slowly ate. Once he finished, and she still hadn’t said anything he set the bowl to one side, rising and pulling his coat back on before moving and sitting across from the girl. It wasn’t easy to do, either; she had let down her hair the previous evening, and it fell around her shoulders like a silken waterfall, perfectly framing her face in a way that made it incredibly difficult to look at her and remain focused, before pooling on the floor of the tent around her. She silently met his gaze, taking a deep breath before starting to talk.

“Mark, I want to talk to you about something,” Lyn said hesitantly.

“Shoot,” he offered lightly, idly balancing one of the empty bowls on the tips of his fingers.

“You obviously have some experience in the ways of war. Your journey… to become a tactician,” Lyn said, the words practically tumbling out of her mouth now. “Would you allow me to join you?”

Mark blinked a few times at the sudden request, his head quirking to one side as he processed it. “I’m, uh, not really equipped to teach you how to be a tactician…”

“I merely wish to travel with you,” Lyn explained, never once breaking eye contact, her hopeful and pleading gaze cutting right through him.

“I… don’t have a problem with it,” he said after a moment of thought. “But shouldn’t we ask your parents or tribe or whatever first? I don’t want people to think I’m kidnapping you or something…”

Lyn’s gaze snapped down as if he had struck her. There was an awkward moment of silence in which Mark wondered if he should start to run before Lyn spoke again.

“My mother and father died six months ago,” she said in a small voice. “My people… the Lorca… they don’t…”

She took a deep breath before looking back up at Mark, not even trying to hide the pain and tears in her eyes.

“I am the last of my tribe,” she said in a thick voice before looking away again.

“Oh, wow, I had… no idea… I’m so sorry. If you don’t want to talk about it…” Mark said awkwardly.

“No, I would have you… know the truth of my story,” Lyn explained. “So that you might understand why I wish to travel with you.”

Mark nodded silently, waiting for her to continue and respectfully placing the bowl back on the ground. A few more moments passed as Lyn composed herself before finally speaking.

“Bandits attacked,” she said in a shaky voice, her shoulders beginning to tremble slightly. “They killed… so many people. The tribe was… scattered. My father was our chief, and I wanted to protect our people. But I was so young, and the people are old fashioned. They would not follow a woman… No one would… follow me…”

Lyn let out a soft sniffle as a surprised Mark moved to sit at her side, only hesitating a moment before wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” Lyn said, taking a deep breath. “I’ve been alone for so long…”

Mark nodded again. This explained a lot of her behaviour the previous evening, including her suicidal desire to see all the bandits dead.

“Don’t worry about it,” he soothed, tightening his grip a little.

Lyn took another deep breath and stood, gently shaking off Mark’s arm.

“No… I will shed no more tears,” she said, her voice becoming clear again.

A few moments passed before Lyn turned to face Mark again, dry eyed now and full of confidence.

“Thank you, Mark. I feel better,” she said gratefully as the tactician rose to his feet. “Please, Mark,” Lyn said, taking one of his hands in both of hers. “I must become stronger. I must become stronger so that I can avenge my father’s death. I must become stronger so that this kind of evil never happens again. Yesterday’s battle taught me that I still have much to learn, and that I will not learn it sitting here alone.”

The tactician nodded, agreeing with her sentiments. “Well, at least you’ve got a solid base…”

“Please, Mark,” Lyn practically begged as she stepped towards him. “Tell me you’ll take me with you.”

“Okay, okay!” he said pulling his hand free and taking a step back in the cramped tent, his face starting to blush from the strength of Lyn’s emotions as he looked away. “I’m not going to turn you down, not after you obviously spent so much time working on that speech.”

“Truly?” Lyn asked.

Mark nodded, flinching when Lyn threw her arms around his neck and hugged him in her happiness.

“That is wonderful! Oh, thank you so much!” Lyn cried happily as Mark tried to subtly ease himself from her embrace.

“We’ll be better off working together, I just know it,” Lyn said with a beaming smile once she stepped back from Mark.

The tactician just nodded, his face still red as he looked away from Lyn.

“You’ll be my master tactician, and I’ll be your peerless warrior!” she went on, quickly beginning to pack her few belongings in the tent.

“We can do it, right?” she asked, smiling over her shoulder at Mark.

He was struck speechless by such an innocent smile for a moment before he regained his wits and managed to nod.

“Of course we can,” he said, smiling himself. “But rule number one is ‘no more suicide-charges at bandits’. We fight smart, understand?”

“I believe that sounds fair,” Lyn laughed, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her face.

* * *

Mark had to admit, Lyn was in a much better mood now than she had been as she led the tactician across the ocean of grass. She chatted about inconsequential things, telling Mark about the local customs so fast he couldn’t get a word in edgewise. Obviously she had been lonely, living alone on the plains for so long.

A young sword-fighter and a trainee-tactician on a journey to improve their skills; it made Mark chuckle a little to himself. They made an odd pair, but Lyn was surprisingly likeable. She wasn’t at all like the other dour Nomads he’d met on the plains so far, something he put to a combination of her unique personality and her youth.

“First we should stop for more supplies,” Lyn said cheerfully. “I still have some food left, but with the two of us it won’t last long. The closest town is Bulgar; it is the commercial centre of Sacae, and I have been there a few times. You have no objections to starting there?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. To tell the truth I still have no idea where I-”

“Good!” Lyn said excitedly, cutting him off. “Their inn is one of the finest in all of Sacae, and the meals are amazing! We shall have to stay the evening there. Ah, by the mother sky it has been so long since I have washed my hair properly…”

Mark sighed, grinning a little to himself as Lyn went off on another tangent about Sacaen dress and hairstyles, and how they were an important part of social life.

At least he was learning things about the culture…

Mark perked up a little, spotting the sunlight glinting off of something in the distance.

“What is it, Mark?” Lyn asked when she realised he’d stopped.

He squinted, making out two riders moving at a fair clip through the plains; men in armour, rather than the leathers and flowing garments of the Sacaen Nomads, riding in the same direction they were.

“Riders,” he reported. “Two of them. Looks like they’re heading to the town as well.”

“Knights?” Lyn repeated, shading her eyes and trying to spot them, too. “In Sacae? That is strange.”

“Unless they’re mercenary knights it’s got nothing to do with us,” Mark shrugged, hitching the pack he was carrying for Lyn further up on his back.

The young swordswoman nodded, an uncertain look crossing her features before she moved to catch up with Mark.

* * *

“So this is Bulgar?” Mark asked as he looked around that evening.

Everywhere around him people were going about their lives, ignoring the newcomer as they slipped between wooden buildings and canvas merchant stalls lining the rutted dirt street. Merchants were loudly shouting and hocking their wares while apprentices raced around underfoot, making deliveries or picking up materials their masters would need for the next day’s work. All of this was accompanied by gratuitous laughter and the smell of roasting meat; it was as though there was a festival going on to Mark’s untrained eye, even though according to Lyn it was always like this. The lively atmosphere was making Mark smile just from standing in the street.

“I love this city,” Lyn sighed, leading him through the press of people. “It is so alive, so vibrant. It is the jewel of Sacae, full of colour and passion.”

Mark nodded, forced to agree with her as he watched men toasting a hard day’s work in the stalls outside the bars lining one street. It was such a lively place he almost considered just staying there; he was good with numbers and had a keen intellect, no doubt he’d make a fine merchant’s apprentice. One look at Lyn’s smiling face, however, quelled those thoughts as he recalled his promise to her. They had a quest to undertake, even if it was still only a vague idea.

Lyn led them down one of the side-roads, past merchants’ apprentices as they closed up the shops for the day while their masters sat out back counting their profits. She stopped outside of one of the smaller inns, looking expectantly at Mark.

“It looks… clean?” he said, unsure of how to respond to her look.

“It is the best inn in Bulgar,” Lyn said happily, moving to open the door and hesitating. “Just… don’t sign anything the inn-keeper hands you. In fact, just let me do the talking. She gets a little excitable around new customers.”

A bell on the back of the simple wooden door chimed as Lyn pushed it open, stepping into the dim interior and leaving Mark to follow her with unasked questions still on the tip of his tongue.

He reeled and clutched his ears when a loud, high-pitched squeal assaulted him, a red blur moving to meet them at the door.

“Lyndis, dear!” a thin woman with bright red hair tied back into a ponytail shrieked. “It’s been too long! I’m glad to see you’re still alive!”

“Good evening, Anna,” Lyn said, half a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “We’re looking for some rooms.”

“We?” the innkeeper, Anna, parroted before her gaze fell on Mark.

“Hello and welcome to Anna’s Inn!” she shouted cheerily, practically bowling Lyn over in her haste to get to the tactician. “You’ll find no better rooms in Bulgar or all of Sacae! Plus the inn sports the most beautiful innkeeper in the city, too! You’re in for a treat tonight, young man!”

Anna broke into a fit of giggles as she gripped at a stunned Mark’s arm and dragged him further into the inn.

“Lyn save me,” Mark whispered as the innkeeper manhandled him past his partner.

* * *

That night, on the first soft bed he’d slept on since he had made the journey to Sacae, Mark lay awake and staring at the ceiling. Dinner had been huge and hearty, not to mention dirt cheap. Apparently Anna really liked Lyn and had thus only charged them for the cost of the ingredients; which was good, because Mark had yet to actually make any local money since coming to the land of plains and sky.

Lyn had talked merrily with the innkeeper while they had eaten and Mark had been able to observe and learn a little more about his new travelling companion. Such as the fact she had made the trip to Bulgar at least four times since she’d lost her tribe, each time choosing to stay at Anna’s inn; even before that the plucky innkeeper had apparently had some dealings with the Lorca, and fussed over Lyn almost like one would a little sister. Other travellers, nomads that apparently had once held ties to the Lorca, had talked with them, too, and Mark had been completely left out to eat his meal in silence as he observed and listened. The older men, merchants and clanless mercenaries that had worked with the Lorca, all knew Lyn and they had talked late into the night about things that he hadn’t even tried to follow. But Mark was man enough to admit that it made him a strange sort of jealous.

After the meal they had retired to adjoining rooms on the second floor, Anna promising to bring up tubs full of hot water that they could clean themselves with. Mark had made good use of the down-time, chronicling his journey so far in the little mole-skin journal he carried everywhere with him and even managing to do a passable job at shaving the fine hairs from his face with his dagger before thoroughly cleaning himself. He felt like a new man, but he still couldn’t get his hair to sit neatly.

The young would-be tactician let out a sigh, resting the back of his hand on his forehead.

Lyn was clearly held in high regard here; and why not? She was the daughter of the Lorca’s late chief, which would make her the Sacaen equivalent of their princess. It stood to reason that she would be well known and well received by the allies of her tribe. Mark even surmised that if she had wanted to reunite the tribe she could even become the new Lorca chieftain herself.

Lyn had obviously needed the socialization of the evening, too; from what Mark had been able to pick up so far the Nomads were a social people that loved to drink and talk and tell stories. It appeared to be an important part of their social structure, and being deprived of that would have been hard for Lyn.

A soft knock at the door interrupted the young man’s thoughts, making him shoot into a sitting position and automatically reach for the small dagger on his bedside table.

“Yes?” he called out softly.

“Mark, are you still awake?”

He relaxed, tossing the weapon back onto the table as he rested his back against the bed’s headboard.

“Yeah. What’s wrong?”

Lyn opened the door, stepping somewhat timidly inside Mark’s room and quickly looking around.

“I did not wake you?” she asked.

“I was just trying to organize my thoughts,” he said kindly, indicating she sit on the chair in the corner of his room. “What can I do for you, Lyn?”

The girl sat down, giving Mark an apologetic look for a moment before she spoke. “You were left out of the dinner conversation. I wanted to apologize for that. I meant no disrespect; it had just been some time since I had…”

She trailed off and frowned when it became obvious that Mark was holding in laughter, his hand clamped over his mouth.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he snorted. “It’s just that… well, I understand you wanting to talk to your old friends.”

“They were allies of my tribe, hardly friends,” Lyn corrected him. “And you are my tactician. I should be talking to you. We must get to know one-another if we are to work alongside each other.”

“Technically I am still only a tactician-trainee,” Mark said, shrugging and holding his hands palm-up. “By the rules of my family I’m not full-fledged until I serve as a strategist for a time.”

“Still,” Lyn said, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees. “I would converse with you.”

“About what?” Mark asked lightly.

Lyn hesitated, her mouth working without sound before her shoulders drooped a little.

“I admittedly did not think that far ahead,” she muttered, a slight red tint creeping to her cheeks as Mark began to snicker again.

After a moment Lyn began to chuckle a little as well, leaning back in her chair and relaxing.

“So tell me,” Mark asked conversationally as he rested his hands behind his head. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Old enough to slay bandits,” Lyn answered evasively. “How old are you?”

“Old enough to have fun, but still young enough to get away with it,” he shrugged innocently.

Lyn raised an eyebrow at the tactician, eliciting another soft laugh from him.

“Just turned eighteen,” Mark admitted.

“I am… this is my fifteenth summer,” Lyn said in the lull that followed Mark’s admission.

“See? Not that big an age-gap,” Mark said.

“But by the laws of my tribe I am still a child,” Lyn spat. “I have had to lie about my age for six months so that I was not adopted by another tribe ‘for my own good’.”

“It must have been hard,” Mark commented.

“Yes, it was,” Lyn said softly, looking down.

When she looked back up Mark found himself stunned speechless again by the sheer beauty of her smile.

“But all that has changed now,” Lyn said happily. “I’m not alone any more. Because I found you.”

* * *

Mark couldn’t help but wordlessly grumble the next morning as he and Lyn set out from the inn, a sickeningly chirper Anna seeing them off far louder than necessary.

“Good thing we’re not trying to be secretive about this trip,” Mark groaned as the red-haired innkeeper wished them a safe journey at the top of her lungs from the door of the inn.

“Yes, Anna is a very lively sort,” Lyn laughed.

“So… where are we going?” Mark asked conversationally as they strolled through the town.

Lyn shrugged.

“There are still bandits on the plains at the base of the Bern Mountains. Why don’t we start there?”

“As good a place to start as any,” Mark sighed. “Let’s get some supplies and get a move on.”

The pair had barely taken another step before they were forced to stop suddenly when a strange voice rang out, making both travellers turn curiously.

“Oh my heart! What a dazzling vision of loveliness!”

Mark realised he was looking at one of the Knights he’d seen in the distance the previous evening; a young man only a few years his senior with brown hair only marginally neater than his own held away from his face by an old headband. An instinctive sense of dislike crept into Mark’s heart, and he found himself narrowing his eyes.

“Wait, oh beauteous one!” the Knight pleaded to Lyn, holding one hand over his heart. “Would you not favour me with your name? Or better yet, your company?”

Mark’s brow twitched as he was overcome with the urge to punch the Knight. However, he remained silent and clenching his fists, not wanting to appear to be a violent boor in front of Lyn. His Grandfather’s favourite line of _“when in doubt, punch it out”_ circled around his head a few times, but Mark shook the thought away. For the moment, anyway.

“Where are you from, sir Knight, that you speak so freely to a stranger?” Lyn asked, instantly flustered as the Knight approached.

“Ha! I thought you would never ask!” the green-armoured Knight declared, as if Lyn had fallen into his trap, sidling closer to her and utterly ignoring Mark. “I am from the noble land of Lycia! I hail from the Caelin canton, home to men of passion and fire!”

“Shouldn’t that be ‘home to callow oafs with loose tongues’?” Lyn asked before Mark could speak, crossing her arms and glaring at the Knight.

The tactician snickered at the insult, but unfortunately Lyn’s candour seemed to backfire as the Knight actually swooned as his harsh treatment.

“Ooh, you’re even lovely when you’re cruel!” he sighed.

Lyn clicked her tongue in annoyance, spinning on her heel and looking at her travelling companion.

“Let’s go Mark,” she declared suddenly. “I’ve got nothing more to say to this man.”

Mark nodded, glaring with one arched brow at the Knight before turning to follow Lyn.

“Wait, please…!” the man said, making to follow them before being pulled backwards.

“Sain, hold your tongue!” a new voice practically shouted.

“Ah, Kent, my boon companion! Why so severe an expression?” the other man, Sain apparently, asked.

Lyn and Mark both hesitated, Mark fervently hoping Sain was about to be hit in some form by the red-armoured Knight with orange hair currently gripping his shoulder. Preferably in a very painful fashion.

“If your manner were more serious I would not have to be severe,” Kent growled, bringing his face close to Sain’s in a threatening manner before releasing the man. “We still have a mission to complete.”

“But to remain silent in the face of such beauty would have been discourteous-” Sain insisted.

“What would you know of courtesy?” Kent asked, cutting the other man off mid-rant.

Kent straightened, approaching Lyn and Mark before bowing apologetically to them both.

“My lady, please accept my humblest apologies for my oafish companion’s behaviour,” Kent said in a clipped tone, on Mark recognized as speaking of a lifetime of military training.

Lyn looked questioningly to Mark, who shrugged helplessly.

“Very well,” she said after a moment. “Thank you. You, at least, seem honourable enough.”

Kent straightened, nodding before his eyes widened slightly. His brow furrowed, and he leaned in closer to Lyn, as if inspecting her. Mark felt a muscle in his cheek twitch, but once more held his tongue. From what he’d seen so far Lyn didn’t need his help, plus he reasoned that it might be interesting to see such a small woman beat two armoured knights into submission in the middle of a busy street.

“Er… pardon me, milady, but have we perchance met before?” he asked curiously.

“I beg your pardon?” Lyn deadpanned, her expression dropping into a scowl.

Mark resisted the urge to laugh out loud as Sain made a strangled squeaking sound, rushing to Kent’s shoulder.

“Hey, no fair, I saw her first!” the green-armoured man objected.

Lyn clicked her tongue again before spinning on her heel and stomping off.

“It appears there are no honourable men in Lycia’s Knights after all,” she growled to Mark, who struggled to match her pace. “Let us be off, Mark. I have run out of patience.”

“Okay, sheesh,” the tactician sighed. “Slow down already, I’m the one carrying everything here!”

“Wait, please! It’s not like that!” Kent called out from behind them, being utterly ignored by Lyn.

* * *

Mark rolled out his neck under the weight of the heavy bag on his back as he and Lyn walked side by side out of Bulgar. The endless sea of grass ahead of them was broken by the occasional traveller heading either towards the city or away from it. Mark could see a few wagons in the distance, but mountains he couldn’t find.

“How far away from the mountains are we, anyway?” he asked curiously.

“Nearly a week by foot,” Lyn said distractedly.

Mark sighed and rolled his eyes.

“C’mon, are you still bothered by those Knights?” he asked. “You’re not seriously telling me a pretty girl like you has never been hit on before.”

“Pretty…?” Lyn repeated, blushing a little as Mark turned back to the city.

“See?” he said, indicating the empty road behind them. “They’re not even following us, so cheer up a… little…”

He trailed off, catching sight of the men obviously trying to shadow the duo. Mark took a moment to study them out of the corner of his eye, thinking that they might simply be doing something, anything, else, but even a cursory glance was enough to convince him that they were following the travellers.

“Lyn, start running,” Mark said quietly.

“What?” she asked, turning to look back to the city, too.

The men following them realised they’d been found out, foregoing their cover and racing out after the two young travellers. The young tactician cursed himself for not opening with ‘don’t turn around’, but quickly pushed the thoughts of self-reproach from his mind.

“Run!” Mark repeated, shedding his pack and starting to run away from the city as fast as he could.

Lyn followed wordlessly, drawing her sword as she matched Mark’s pace. Behind them more of their pursuers appeared out of the ditch beside the road, much closer this time. They were dressed similarly to the bandits they had fought the night they had met, wielding similar weapons and scowling.

“These men are out for blood,” Lyn warned, skidding to a stop.

Mark followed her example, spotting the three bandits crawling out of the ditch ahead of them on the road.

“Well, crap,” Mark cursed, drawing his rapier.

The bandits closed in as their leader stepped forward, his stubble-coated face twisting into a cruel grin as his eyes fell on Lyn and he let out a short laugh.

“Well, ain’t you a pretty one?” the bandit slurred. “You’re Lyndis, yeah?”

Lyn started as if struck, her eyes widening. Mark glanced over his shoulder curiously at her reaction. Anna had called her that the previous evening, but the way Lyn reacted just now…

“What did you call me?” she asked, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “Who are you? How do you know that name?”

The bandit just chuckled again, turning as he shook his head in mock sadness.

“Such a waste,” the bandit sighed. “An absolute waste. The things I’ll do for gold… Right you lot, waste ‘em!”

“Don’t give up, Mark,” Lyn said to the tactician at her back. “We’ll think of something…”

“Yeah, ‘cut them up and run like mad’,” the tactician scoffed.

“I like that plan,” Lyn growled, her grip on her old sword tightening expectantly.

The bandits eyed off with the two travellers for a few moments in tense silence, neither side wanting to put themselves at risk by making the first move. Mark was happy to see Lyn fighting smarter this time rather than racing head-first into their enemy, but he could see the tightness of her jaw, the stiffness of her shoulders and stance. It was taking a monumental effort to control herself.

Lyn tensed against Mark’s back, obviously about to attack before the sound of muffled hoof-beats reached the tactician’s ears.

“Stand away from the lady!” Sain cried, riding onto the road from the lower field and swinging a lance at the bandits in front of Mark.

“Hold!” Kent shouted, appearing after Sain and taking up position in front of Lyn. “Such numbers against travellers!? Cowards, every one of you!”

“You-” Lyn started, staring up at the mounted Knights.

“Later!” Kent said, cutting her off and slashing with a longsword at the closest bandits. “Come! If it is a fight you seek, look no further!”

“Stand back,” Sain said to them with a wink. “We’ll take care of this.”

“Is it so wrong I really don’t like him?” Mark ground out as the green knight struck with his lance again.

“No! This is my fight!” Lyn declared, losing her composure and running towards the retreating bandits in front of her. “Stay out of my way!”

“Lyn, what are you- Lyn!?” Mark called after her.

“We have to go after her!” Sain shouted, wheeling his horse around.

The bandits scattered, racing into the field and taking refuge across a small stream. They obviously meant to escape now that the tables had been turned, but Mark needed to know why they were being hunted…

“You two!” he shouted, stalling the Knights. “Ride south and circle around! Pen them in and push them back towards us!”

“Excuse me?” Kent asked, obviously non-pulsed at being ordered around.

“Just do it!” the young tactician growled, taking off after Lyn.

Mark was surprised and further irritated to see just how far ahead of him Lyn had gotten; she was clearly far, far faster than he could ever hope to be, but she was stalled by one of the bandits she had managed to catch up to. With mad, hacking motions completely removed from the elegant swordsmanship he’d seen the previous night Lyn went after the bandit, kicking upwards to break his guard before setting upon the man in a snarling rage.

She was so focused on the bandit screaming beneath her that Lyn completely missed the one sneaking up on her.

“Lyn!” Mark called out in warning, throwing out his empty hand desperately.

He was far too slow to catch the bandit’s blade in time, but his shout gave the man a momentary pause. Long enough for Lyn to roll aside and come up in a fighting crouch. Mark closed with the man, bringing his rapier in to stab three times at the bandit’s chest, forcing his attention onto the strategist while Lyn ran him through from behind with a savage scream. As she kicked the bandit off her blade Mark rounded on her, high on adrenaline and panting from the run.

“What happened to rule number one!?” Mark shouted. “You promised me, dammit! You gave me your word that-”

“Be silent!” Lyn snapped, her face still contorted with rage. “These men are monsters! I’ll kill every last one of them-”

Lyn’s rant was abruptly cut off as a loud slap echoed around the plain, Mark lowering his hand as Lyn looked back up with wide, shocked eyes.

“Have you come to your senses yet?” Mark asked in a low tone.

Lyn nodded slowly, her face slacking a little.

“I… I am sorry, Mark,” Lyn said quietly, looking down. “I do not-”

“Save it,” the young tactician sighed, starting to walk south again. “We’ll talk about it later. We need to make the road safe for the other travellers first.”

“But know this,” he added over his shoulder as Lyn started to follow him. “If you pull a stunt like this again you will find yourself without your tactician. Am I clear? What’s the point of having a tactician if you’re not going to listen to him in the first place?”

* * *

By the time Mark and Lyn had caught up with the fleeing bandits Kent and Sain had already run most of the group to ground beneath their steeds’ hooves, only the enemy leader and two others still putting up a fight as they tried to get away.

Mark had to scoff at the way he automatically classified these men as ‘the enemy’ in his mind. Reasoning away the killing, making it easier to deal with. It hardly felt like something a hero-tactician would do.

“Accursed knights, always interfering with other’s affairs!” the bandit leader growled, swinging his axe back and forth and actually managing to score a light hit on Sain’s arm.

Kent growled as Sain momentarily retreated, stabbing another of the bandits with his longsword as Lyn and Mark dashed into the fray, taking the last bandit by surprise and skewering the axe-wielding man with their swords at the same time.

“Give up and we may think about sparing you,” Mark told the bandit leader, resting his bloody sword against his shoulder.

“Sod off, kid,” the bandit growled, readying his axe. “I ain’t about to go down so easy as the rabble.”

Lyn surprised Mark by stepping forward, her face cold this time as opposed to the fiery wrath she had been showing before.

“Surrender,” she said forcefully, brandishing her weapon at the man. “Enough blood has been spilled this day.”

“Shove it up yer-” the bandit started, taking a step forward.

Mark darted in low, bringing his rapier up with the intention of throwing the man off balance. Lyn caught on and spun, her own blade carving a furrow across the bandit leader’s leather armour as Sain leapt forward, ramming his lance down into the bandit’s back from behind. Kent brought his sword down, the heavy weapon sinking deep into the bandit’s shoulder.

“Argh!” the bandit roared, sinking to his knees before looking up at Lyn. “There was only… supposed to be a… lone girl…”

Lyn clicked her tongue before spinning again and beheading the man.

Mark sighed, wiping the blood off his rapier with a scrap of cloth from one of the fallen bandits and watching Lyn out of the corner of his eye. She was standing perfectly still over the body, looking down at it and frowning.

“I’d say that was a little over-kill,” Mark commented idly, hoping to break her out of her melancholy.

“Indeed,” Lyn commented, shaking her head to clear her thoughts. “That was fantastic work, Mark. You truly are amazing.”

“Stop with the flattery,” Mark chuckled, sheathing his sword before sobering. “You okay?”

“I will be,” Lyn promised him, flashing him a small smile before turning back to the now dismounted knights.

“As for you, Knights of Lycia,” she said, her tone serious. “I would have you share your story with me.”

“Yes, of course, milady,” Kent said with a light bow. “However, may I suggest someplace a little more… private?”

Lyn raised her brow disapprovingly as Mark moved to whisper conspiratorially in her ear.

“We’re not that far from Bulgar yet,” he suggested quietly. “And I’d bet we can get at least a night’s lodging out of these two.”

“Anna would appreciate the business,” Lyn muttered with a small nod.

“Very well,” she said to the knights. “Follow us.”

* * *

“We have ventured from Caelin, in Lycia, in search of someone,” Kent explained.  

Mark quirked one brow, choosing to let the others remain ignorant of his total lack of knowledge in the geography of the land they were in for the time being. He would find a map… eventually. Until then he would, as his teacher was prone to saying, ‘fake it’.

The two travellers and two knights were seated around a low table in one of Anna’s rooms, Mark perched on the edge of the bed as the others occupied all the chairs. Their return journey had been tense and awkward, both travellers doing their best to maintain a watch on their surroundings for any further ambushes while still keeping the mounted knights at arm’s length. Now, the two men were disarmed and had removed their armour in a show of sincerity, sitting in their plain earthen-toned riding clothes, which had convinced Lyn enough to hear them out.

“Lycia is the country beyond the mountains in the south-west, is it not?” Lyn asked curiously.

“Correct,” Kent nodded. “We have come as messengers for the Lady Madelyn, who eloped with a Nomad some twenty years ago.”

Lyn reeled as if struck, her hand instantly coming to rest over her heart.

“M-Madelyn…” she repeated, her gaze dropping.

“Our Lord the marquess of Caelin’s only daughter,” Kent confirmed before ploughing on. “He was heartbroken his own daughter would abandon him so. Eventually the marquess simply declared that he had no daughter.”

“And then this year we received a letter from Lady Madelyn,” Sain piped up, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and an excited set to his features. “It said that she, her husband and their daughter were living happily on the Sacae plains. The marquess was ecstatic to learn he had a granddaughter!”

Lyn quivered a little again, and Mark had to resist the urge to reach out and comfort the girl. He settled for sighing and averting his gaze a little, waiting for the knights to continue.

“I remember the smile on his face when he announced that he’d suddenly become a grandfather,” Sain went on, oblivious. “The granddaughter’s name is Lyndis. This was also the name of the marquess’ wife, who passed away at an early age. We… did not know that Lady Madelyn passed a few days after sending that letter.”

“Lyn?” Mark asked cautiously as her gaze snapped back up at the sound of her name from the Knight.

“His… only wish is to meet his daughter’s family at least once,” Kent added, hesitating at Lyn’s distraught face. “Milady, are you well?”

“I am fine,” Lyn said, taking a deep breath to compose herself. “Please, continue.”

“Very well,” Sain said, sitting up straight. “We only learned of the Lady’s passing and the destruction of the Lorca tribe after we arrived in Bulgar yesterday.”

“But we also learned that the Lady Madelyn’s daughter yet lives,” Kent said, pointedly staring at Lyn. “A young woman, living alone on the plains…”

“Well, mostly alone,” Kent added, shooting a glance at Mark, who shrugged.

“I knew it immediately,” the Knight added with conviction. “You are the lady Lyndis.”

Lyn flinched before nodding. Mark quirked a questioning brow at her, and she smiled apologetically to him in return.

“How did you know?” she asked quietly, turning back to Kent.

“Your resemblance to your departed mother is uncanny,” Kent said, a soft smile rising to his lips.

“Did you know her?” Lyn asked somewhat hopefully.

Kent shook his head sadly.

“I’m sorry to say that I never met her directly. But I saw her portraits in Castle Caelin. Your face is somewhat slimmer, and you must have your father’s eyes… But there is no doubt in my mind. You are the Lady Lyndis.”

Lyn nodded, her shoulders drooping.

“To the people of my tribe I was always just Lyn,” she said in a small voice. “But when I was with my parents… When it was just the three of us, I was Lyndis.”

She turned away to look out the window, where twilight had fallen over the commercial city now.

“It’s all so strange,” she commented. “A few days ago I was all alone in the world. Then I tripped over Mark, and now I even have a Grandfather…”

“Wait, that’s how you found me? You accidentally kicked me?” Mark piped up, earning a chuckle from Lyn and Sain.

“Lyndis,” Lyn repeated. “I never thought I would hear that name again.”

“Wait,” Mark said, holding up a forestalling hand as he stroked his chin. “That bandit… he called you Lyndis, too.”

“What!?” Kent asked, hands flat on the table between them. “How could he have…”

“He was a henchman of Lord Lundgren, wasn’t he?” Sain asked with a tired sigh, running a hand through his hair.

“Who?” Mark and Lyn both asked at the same time.

“He’s the marquess’ younger brother,” Kent explained, looking right at Lyn. “He is your Grand-Uncle.”

“And to be blunt, milady,” Sain added. “You are an obstacle to his plans to seize power.”

Silence settled over the room, broken only when Mark sighed, massaging the skin between his eyes.

“What have I gotten myself into?” he asked no one in particular.

* * *

That evening Mark found himself lying on his bed, staring up at the same ceiling from the previous night. Anna had been just as attentive to their needs as she had been the previous evening, even if she did give the two knights strange looks and a wide berth, much to Sain’s apparent displeasure. The quartet spent the evening discussing travel plans, and Mark even got his first look at a local map. They would travel across the plains until they hit the mountains, then go over the mountains, then…

Mark sighed, sitting up and running a hand through his hair.

“Just what did I get myself into here?” he asked the empty room again.

Of course, no answer was forthcoming.

According to the stories his mother told him, his ancestor had been little older than he had been when they had set out on their own journey, but under very different circumstances than his own. Mark gave thanks to whatever local gods there were that he hadn’t been sucked into leading an army like they had. But still, he had been planning on something a little… smaller in scale. A few mercenaries perhaps; even his previous agreement with Lyn had been satisfactory. Now they would be travelling hundreds of leagues to confront an evil tyrant and gods-above only knew what else. It was more than Mark had been prepared for, if he were honest.

A light knock at his door echoed through the small room before it opened, Lyn peeking through the crack.

“Mark, are you awake?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“Yeah,” he sighed, spinning to face her and indicating she take a seat.

“I… heard you talking,” she said, somewhat timidly.

“I talk to myself a lot,” Mark shrugged. “They say that smart people apparently do that. Well, my mom said that, so I don’t know how trustworthy a source that is…”

Lyn chuckled a little as she perched on the edge of her chair, fiddling with her hands and squirming a little as she looked at the floor between their feet. She was tense; Mark could tell something was bothering her, but he had no idea where to start. After everything that had happened to her in the last few months, of course she would have problems, but her level of problems seemed to be far above what he was prepared to deal with, and rising still given everything that happened that day.

“Mark, you do not have to come with us,” Lyn said in a small voice, as if reading the young tactician’s entire earlier thought process. “I… would understand if you did not.”

Mark looked at her as she bowed her head low, scrunching herself up as if waiting for him to reject her. In that moment Lyn looked so fragile that a soft breeze would shatter her into a thousand pieces, and Mark found himself unable to abandon her.

“Er… aw what the hell,” Mark sighed. “I’m still in. You’ll get yourselves killed without a decent strategist around, so I’m in. Besides, this is the kind of thing I was looking for; a chance to put my profession to use. This is a little above the level of what I was chasing, but no one said being a tactician is a safe job.”

Lyn’s face snapped up, her shining eyes settling on Mark’s grinning face.

“Truly?” she asked hopefully.

“Yeah,” Mark said with a grin. “I promised to be your tactician. I hold promises in high regard, so I’m in.”

Lyn looked down again, letting out a small sniffle.

“Thank you, Mark,” she said in a cracking voice. “You have no idea… what that means to me.”

“After what I’ve heard it sounds like you could use all the friends you can get,” Mark said softly, reaching out and resting a hand on Lyn’s shoulder. “But you should get some rest. We’ve got a long journey ahead of us tomorrow.”

Lyn nodded, wiping her face with the back of her hand before standing.

“I know,” she said, smiling down at the tactician. “And… thank you again, Mark. I cannot say that enough.”

The young tactician grinned a little as Lyn offered him a small wave while she returned to her own room, letting out a breath once she was finally gone and throwing himself backwards onto the bed.

“Guess I’m in for the long-haul now,” he muttered to himself, staring up at the ceiling again. “Could be worse. I’m not leading an army, at least.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll say it right now; this is an old game. There are a lot of amazing versions of this story out there already. A LOT. I’m doing this for me, because I can and because I want to. I’m doing this in my established style, with characters I grew up with and the game and stunningly beautiful story that introduced me to this series. This game meant a lot to me, and I want to share the awe and joy that it gave me with others. However I really have no idea how long it will be. I really don’t. Let’s just say ‘exceedingly’ and leave it at that.


	2. Chapter 2

Mark let out a loud yawn as he tromped along beside Lyn, the two knights from Lycia flanking them as the group wandered down the road leading out of Bulgar. It was still early in the morning, and Mark would always be first to admit that he really wasn’t a morning person.

Lyn, on the other hand, was annoyingly chirper, despite the early hour. The Knights, too, were fully awake and chattering along. It was only the tactician-strategist that was grumpy.

“How are you people so… so…” Mark groaned, trailing off into another great yawn.

“Awake?” Sain laughed, grinning from atop his horse.

“I dislike you,” Mark deadpanned, glaring at the handsome knight.

“We knights keep to a rigid schedule,” Kent supplied. “We must rise before dawn to feed and groom our mounts every day without fail.”

“And I am used to rising with the sun out on the plains,” Lyn added with a smile.

Try as he might, Mark just couldn’t stay mad in the face of that innocent smile. With a sigh he sagged, muttering to himself about how soft he was. The quartet was travelling down the same road that Lyn and Mark had attempted to the previous day, which according to Lyn led to an ancient Sacaen temple where travellers went to pray for a safe journey. It had been Lyn who had suggested the side-trip, and Mark had simply deferred to her on this. He was, after all, her strategist. Kent had been a little less than enthusiastic, but the shrine wasn’t even a day away from Bulgar; they could be well underway with their journey after a quick stop. Sain… Mark would freely admit that when Sain started talking, he stopped listening.

“Out of curiosity, how exactly do you pray?” Mark asked suddenly.

Lyn hesitated a moment, her face blank as she looked at the strategist. “I… do not understand your question.”

“Well, back home we had sprawling cathedrals where faithful would go to pray to our deities, which consisted of a lot of scraping and bowing and muttering. So I’m curious. How’s it work in Sacae?”

“What you describe sounds similar to the Light Worship in Lycia,” Kent explained. “Where we pray to the blessed Light for safety and deliverance. I will admit, though, that I do not know how Sacaeans pray, either.”

Lyn fidgeted a little, clearly put on the spot. She cleared her throat nervously before beginning to talk, Sain and Mark both smirking a little at the display.

“Sacaeans pray to the Mother Earth and Father Sky. Although ‘pray’ as Lycians understand it may be the wrong word. We offer rites and sacrifices to our Mother and Father to appease them, and to ask for a good hunt or for a dry rainy season. The shrine we are travelling to is home to a sacred blade named the Mani Katti. It is said to be a path for the Earth Mother’s power. We touch the blade and ask for her to watch over us as we travel.”

“Fascinating,” Mark muttered. “Although it’s not all that surprising that a race as undeveloped as the Sacaeans practice polytheistic nature worship. Are there other shrines that… why, uh, are you glaring at me like that?”

“Sacaeans are not ‘undeveloped’,” Lyn fumed. “We have a rich culture that stretches back to the time of The Scouring! Just because we don’t live in stone castles like the other nations do doesn’t mean we are savages!”

“Peace, Lady Lyndis,” Kent soothed. “I’m sure he meant no harm by his comments. Right Mark?”

The strategist nodded quickly, torn between being taken aback by Lyn’s rant and being grateful to Kent for saving him from his thoughtless social _faux pas_. He was also sure Sain was quietly laughing at him to the side, but chose to ignore that part.

“Lyn, I’m sorry, I meant no disrespect,” Mark said quickly. “I chose my words poorly. I’m sorry. I am really interested in Sacaen culture and traditions, though. I was serious when I said they were fascinating to me.”

“Smooth,” Sain grinned, earning a withering glare from Mark and Kent both.

The girl huffed, crossing her arms as they walked in silence for a time. After a few minutes of this she cast a weak glare at Mark from the corner of her eye before looking back to the horizon.

“I should apologize, too,” she muttered. “Sacaeans face much prejudice from our neighbours in Bern and Lycia. Savages, they call us. Uncivilized. It is… a sore spot.”

“Well, from what I can see of the Lycian culture they’re not much more civilized, anyway,” Mark scoffed, pointedly eying Sain.

“I take offense at that!” the knight declared. “Lycia is home to men of passion and fire, a true haven to those who-”

“So Lyn, are there more shrines like the one we’re going to?” Mark asked over top of Sain’s speech, the green-armoured knight not even noticing.

“There is one other, where we go to mourn our dead and ask Father Sky to accept their spirit’s into his embrace,” Lyn explained in a small voice, looking away to the horizon again. “I… was there six months ago. I would prefer not to return.”

“No problem, I was just curious,” Mark said, nudging her shoulder with his. “Is there a fancy sword there, too?”

Lyn smiled up at him for a moment before shaking her head. “No, the second shrine houses the Bow of Gales, Mulagir.”

“Makes sense,” Mark nodded. “Sky, wind, bow. Gales. A sword is made of iron, which comes from the earth. I can see the connection, there, too. Hold on, let me make a note of this before I forget…”

Lyn giggled a little as Mark did an awkward little dance, trying to continue walking while still pulling his notebook and a piece of charcoal out of his pouch.

“Will you not trip if you try to write and walk?” Lyn asked with a grin.

“Nah, had lots of practice,” Mark mumbled, already scratching away notes. “Remind me when we make camp to properly ink these notes, otherwise they’ll smudge.”

“What do you have in that book, anyway?” Sain asked, leaning over the neck of his horse to peer at the pages Mark was writing on. “Is this where you write your love poetry?”

“Why in… why would I write love poetry!?” Mark asked irritably as he wrote, not even looking up.

“Sain, enough,” Kent said, his voice perfectly even. “We are meant to be on guard, remember?”

“Would it kill you to relax a little, old friend?” Sain sighed, leaning back in his saddle. “This is why you cannot find a woman to-”

“Sain!” Kent barked, his voice much sharper than before.

“Alright, alright,” the green knight shrugged. “I’ll ‘be on guard’. No need to shout.”

Mark clapped his book closed, looking up at Kent with a sincere expression. “Thank you.”

* * *

They came upon a small village just after lunch, Lyn pointing to the first stone building Mark had seen outside Bulgar since he’d arrived in Sacae and explaining that it was the shrine they were heading to. The ‘village’ seemed to Mark to be little more than a glorified camp-ground, numerous smaller Sacaean caravans having converged on the flat area near the shrine. Various tents of differing design and colour were set up, horses tied up near wagons. There were no permanent buildings besides the shrine, just tents and carts set up around the various fire pits on the flat section of plain. It didn’t look anything like the kind of village that Mark was used to, but after his blunder earlier that day he decided to not give voice to his opinion. According to Lyn the Sacaeans considered this area a village because there was almost always someone camped here, preparing for their journeys after having received their blessing from the Mani Katti blade. Merchant convoys were commonplace, too, and it appeared to Mark that once the sun went down quite the lively festive atmosphere would envelop the grounds.

As they drew closer, though, Lyn’s brows furrowed. “Something’s wrong.”

“Indeed! That none of the beauteous Sacaean maidens have come out to meet us breaks my heart!” Sain professed.

“No, I mean something is actually wrong,” Lyn repeated, glaring at the knight.

“Is he never not on?” Mark asked, glancing up at Kent.

The second knight ignored the strategist, though, urging his mount forward alongside Lyn to inspect the camp. “Where are all the people?”

Studying the village now himself, Mark realised that Kent was right. Cooking fires still burned, and the horses all looked to still be in good, well-cared for condition. The village hadn’t been abandoned for long.

“The men should be out hunting,” Lyn explained, her pace quickening. “But there should still be people here. Women and children and…”

“Lyn, don’t get ahead of yourself,” Mark cautioned, hitching his pack higher up onto his back. “We don’t know what happened here. There’s an explanation, so remain calm.”

“I know,” she nodded, eyes not leaving the village.

Coming closer to the caravan village Mark could see that there were still signs of life. Footprints churned up in the dirt between tents, and smoke still rising from the fire pits. He could even smell the leftovers from breakfast, something that made him realise how hungry he was; they had only had a quick lunch on the road of hard rye bread and a few nuts.

“Hello!?” Lyn called out, cupping her hands around her mouth. “I am Lyn, of the Lorca! Is anyone here!?”

The quartet froze as the camp suddenly burst back to life, a small horde of Sacaean women charging from the tents with weapons in hand. Various shades of blue and red flashed on their clothes, similar in design to Lyn’s. All, without exception, had long hair past their shoulders, although many of the older women had braids and beads in their hair, for what reason Mark couldn’t tell. And, again without exception, they all carried swords or wicked looking curved daggers, quickly surrounding the quartet with the weapons. Mark instinctively took a step back, and the two Lycians’ mounts reared up at the sudden movement, but Lyn stood impassively with her hands out by her sides as the women approached them.

“Peace!” Lyn said calmly. “What has happened here?”

One of the women, clearly approaching middle-age if the silver streaks in her black hair was anything to go by, stepped forward and eyed the travellers warily. She wore a scarlet dress similar to Lyn’s, but the bottom only reached her thighs and she wore a pair of hide pants beneath. Her hair clacked with beads as she moved, slowly studying the four newcomers. With a small nod, seemingly satisfied, she lowered her weapon, and the rest followed suit.

“You say you are of the Lorca? I didn’t know any of them yet lived,” she said plainly.

Mark expected Lyn to flinch back from the harsh words, but she stepped forward to face the older woman instead.

“I am Lyn, daughter of Chieftain Hassar of the Lorca. I am the last of my tribe.”

The older woman nodded again before speaking. “I am Isal, wife of Chieftain Sudasu of the Uciar tribe. I am sorry for the loss of your tribe.”

“Thank you,” Lyn said, nodding graciously. “But tell me what has happened to make you all so suspicious of fellow travellers?”

Isal cast a wary glance at Mark and the two knights. “Will they not dismount?”

“All due respect, but we will remain mounted, milady, at least until the weapons are put away,” Kent said.

“Kent, Sain, please,” Lyn said over her shoulder. “It is customary to dismount when greeting others in their camp. It shows respect.”

“Very well,” Sain said with a roguish grin. “If you so decree, Lady Lyn, than I shall obey.”

Kent frowned, but remained silent as he and Sain slipped from their saddles. Both knights drew closer, leading their mounts by the reins and still holding their weapons in hand. Sain flashed a winning smile at the crowd of women, seemingly being ignored.

Isal let out a long sigh before she sheathed her sword. “That is enough. They clearly mean no harm to us,” she said before turning to Lyn. “I apologize on behalf of the Uciar for our disrespect, little sister, but we have had an eventful morning. You and your companions are welcome among us.”

 “Tell me, what has happened?” Lyn asked again.

The older nomad nodded, indicating that they follow her.

“We were attacked,” Isal explained as she led the quartet through the village of tents. “Bandits or mercenaries, we do not know. But they waited until the men had left to hunt, then descended on the shrine. Some of us were wounded when they took the shrine, so we returned to the village.”

“I’m beginning to notice a pattern with you,” Mark deadpanned behind Lyn.

Isal smirked a little as Lyn faltered, unsure how to respond to the strategist’s statement, but before she could the older woman stopped out front of a tent and held the flap aside. Isal ushered Lyn and Mark inside, Kent and Sain opting to remain outside with their mounts. However, Mark could tell that Kent, at the least, would be on guard in case of another attack. From the nomads or the bandits, it didn’t seem to matter to the Lycian. Sain was clearly too busy grinning his roguish grin at any woman that would make eye-contact with him.

The inside of Isal’s tent was much the same as Lyn’s was set up in the evenings. No decoration to speak of, but what was present was brightly coloured with woven cloth in shades of red offset by black. Before Mark could properly study the tent a flash of movement interrupted him, his hand dropping to the hilt of his rapier automatically. Blinking, Mark realised a small child had just run up to hide behind Isal.

“Come, Ilit, we have guests,” Isal said kindly to the child before looking up. “My daughter. She is still young.”

Mark let a breath out his nose, relaxing and letting his hand fall from the hilt of his sword. He managed to catch a glimpse of sea-green eyes beneath a mop of dark-green-almost-black hair before the girl hid behind her mother’s legs again. Lyn laughed as the girl hid from Mark, who huffed and crossed his arms. The younger nomad stepped forward, crouching down before Isal and smiling as she leaned a little around her.

“Hello, Ilit,” Lyn said. “I’m Lyn, and my friend is Mark. It’s nice to meet you.”

The little girl leaned out again, earning a radiant smile from Lyn that even made Mark grin a little.

“Hello,” Ilit said hesitantly.

“Did the men from before scare you, Ilit?” Lyn asked.

“Ooh, I already know where this is going…” Mark sighed, pinching the skin between his eyes as he felt a headache coming on.

Isal gave the strategist a curious glance while Ilit nodded. Lyn’s smile dropped a little as she stood, her hand resting on the hilt of her own sword now.

“You have nothing to fear,” Lyn promised. “My peerless strategist and I will slay the bandits.”

“Please tell me we’re at least taking the other two,” Mark groaned.

“You cannot!” Isal cried. “There were at least ten of them! With only the four of you-”

“Three. I’m not really much of a fighter,” Mark interjected.

“We will be fine, Isal,” Lyn promised.

“You are set on this?” Isal persisted, her brow furrowing.

“I am,” Lyn nodded.

“Don’t bother, there’s no changing her mind when it’s made up,” Mark sighed. “Is there someplace we can leave our packs? It would be nice to do this unencumbered…”

Isal stared at the pair for a moment, Ilit behind her looking back and forth between the adults curiously before her mother sighed.

“We cannot aid you,” the older nomad said regretfully. “If you are to fail, you may anger the bandits. We will need everyone here to protect ourselves.”

“We will not fail,” Lyn declared.

“Ah to be young,” Isal chuckled. “Very well. You may leave your packs here. Be safe, and return alive. We will sing and dance to your victory tonight.”

Mark let out a relieved sigh, dropping his heavy pack and rotating his shoulders, much to Ilit’s amusement. Lyn merely nodded her thanks, sweeping out of the tent without a backwards glance to relay her decision to the two knights. Before Mark could follow, though, Isal stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“There is a wall that was under repair on the western face of the temple,” Isal told him. “You may be able to use that to get inside.”

It took Mark a moment before Isal’s words registered, and his face broke out in a predatory grin. “I like the sound of that.”

* * *

Lyn and Mark watched as Kent and Sain rode off towards the front of the shrine in a plume of dust, off to play distraction while they struck from the back.

Kent had vehemently opposed Lyn’s plan to aid the other nomads, citing their lack of numbers and pressing need to begin their journey to Caelin, but she had been resolute. Sain, however, had seemed overjoyed at the prospect of rescuing an entire village full of women. It wasn’t until Mark had announced his two-pronged attack plan that Kent had relented, seeing that he was out-voted.

“Very well, Lady Lyndis, but please remember that the people of Caelin, too, are depending on your safe return. Do not take any undue risks,” he had said.

“Hey, c’mon, she’ll have me there with her,” Mark had said with a shrug.

“Just be careful,” Kent had repeated before he’d swung up into his saddle.

Now the two knights were charging at the shrine’s entrance, leaving Mark and Lyn to find the broken section of wall Isal had spoken of. Lyn had set off towards the shrine at a trot, the focus in her gaze unshakable as Mark followed after her.

“Well, this should be fun,” he grumbled.

“You could have stayed at the camp,” Lyn pointed out.

“Nah. You lot would get killed without me,” he said, forcing a grin.

Lyn smiled appreciatively before turning back to the task at hand, leaving Mark’s face to drop into a frown. As far as he was concerned Kent had been right on every count. They were vastly outnumbered, and while Lyn was skilled she had little experience and an almost non-existent fuse on her temper. The two knights were also an unknown, and he’d just had to trust that their training had been adequate enough that he hadn’t just sent them to their deaths.

Up close Mark realized that the shrine itself was nothing special. Clearly it had been maintained well over the years, but judging from the build-up of moss and plant matter on the outer stone walls it was an old, old building. At least a few hundred. Rough sandstone blocks had been used to create the edifice, mined from where Mark couldn’t say. He didn’t know enough about the geography of the area to even make a guess, he realized. High, shuttered windows were spaced at regular intervals, closed now no doubt by the bandits that had taken the shrine. They were too high up to be of any use as potential entrances, anyway. Leaving, of course, the damaged wall that Isal had spoken of as their only option.

Mark and Lyn both slowed, looking back over their shoulders as the sounds of fighting began to ring out from the front of the shrine.

“Come, Mark, we must make haste!” Lyn said before doubling her pace.

With a sigh the strategist shook his head. “It’s pointless to tire yourself out before we even get there.”

On the western face of the building, just as Isal had said, they found a section of wall that was clearly undergoing repairs. The section, nearly twice as tall as Mark was, had begun to deteriorate due to vines growing through the mortar that held the blocks together. The monks in the shrine had set up scaffolding around the section of crumbling wall, being held up by logs propped against it as they replaced the damaged sections. A pile of new blocks was sitting to one side, and there was numerous tools spread about.

“So how do we do this?” Lyn asked, looking up at the scaffolding.

Mark just grinned, strutting over to a large hammer lying against the pile of new blocks. Hefting the heavy tool in both hands he turned his grin on Lyn before saying “Oh, I think I have a good idea how...”

* * *

Kent urged his mount faster, snapping the reins in his off-hand while he held his sword up with his right. Beside him Sain was laughing, the green-armoured man seemingly taking Mark’s plans a little too seriously for Kent’s liking.

_Get their attention. Hit and run. Be loud. Be annoying. Draw them out of the shrine, away from the monks, and wait for us to strike from the rear._

The mere thought of knights of Lycia playing at being a distraction admittedly rankled Kent more than he’d like to admit, but Lady Lyn had given her orders. He had little choice but to obey.

A smirk rose to his face unbidden at that thought. Him, branded a traitor by Lundgren and his ilk for following his Marquess’ orders, worrying about loyalty. It was almost enough to draw a laugh from him.

“Come on, Kent, you’ll fall behind!” Sain shouted over the wind roaring in their ears.

The red-haired knight had to laugh at that; it was usually him admonishing Sain to let him strike first so that Sain could use the farther reach of his lance to greater effect. Urging his mount forward again Kent managed to pass the other man just as they came upon the entrance to the shrine, taking the two bandits stationed there on guard totally unawares. Kent’s blade bit deep, practically slicing one man’s arm off at the shoulder thanks to his momentum, while Sain executed a perfect lunge and dropped the other man. In the blink of an eye it was over and the two knights were past the entrance, but the damage had been done. More men were beginning to emerge now as Kent directed his mount to come around in a wide arc.

Sain was laughing again now, his grin almost manic as he followed so close to Kent their horses were nearly touching. Kent could only reflect that he wished Mark could see them now, in their element; Knights of Lycia running down their foes with speed, strength and skill unrivalled by even the Kingdom of Bern’s riders or the northern land of Ilia’s pegasus riders. Before the bandits could form a defensive perimeter the two knights passed through them again, two more bodies dropping in a cloud of dust and blood as the men’s chargers forced their way through.

“This is too easy!” Sain laughed.

Kent resisted the urge to sigh as he gave the other knight a quick glare; he wasn’t an overly superstitious man, but one thing that their old teacher, Knight Commander Eagler, had drilled into them was ‘don’t tempt fate’. And, as if on cue, Sain’s horse began to lag behind Kent’s, a noticeable gap widening between them. Biting back a curse Kent wheeled his mount around, coming to a dead stop as Sain caught up.

“Your mount is injured,” he pointed out. “Use the last of your vulenary on it, I’ll distract the bandits.”

“But this vulenary was a gift from Lady Lyndis-”

“Just do it!” Kent barked, urging his mount back into motion.

He felt a little bad about being so hard on Sain; the man was an excellent knight and warrior, but he let the strangest things slow him down.

Kent only distantly heard Sain’s cursing as the other man descended from his saddle to treat his mount’s injury. The wind was whipping in his ears again, the steady beat of his own mount’s hooves on the grassy earth combining with it to drown out all else in the world. His hand tightened on his sword’s hilt. He counted at least six men now, waiting for him to charge back into them. This time they were ready, though, and he didn’t have the advantage of Sain’s reach at his back.

Too bad for the bandits they were still outmatched, Kent thought.

Now if only Mark could see what he was about to do, a Knight of Lycia. Perhaps the strategist’s opinion of knights would improve a little beyond ‘distractions’.

* * *

“Mark, this is taking too long!” Lyn repeated for the third time.

“Look, either grab a hammer and help or shut up! These monks are better stonemasons than I thought!”

Mark grunted, smashing the hammer into the wall again. Fortunately the sound was being drowned out by the fighting at the main entrance, but the wall itself was far more solid than Isal had led them to believe. He’d been wailing on it with the large sledgehammer for a good few minutes now, and while the top had indeed come loose the repaired sections at the bottom were far from crumbling to create the hole they needed.

Lyn hissed out some Sacaean oath, her knuckles white on her sword as she paced.

“I was… serious you know!” Mark huffed, pausing to strike the wall again. “You could always… help me out a little!”

“You are taking up too much space!”

“If we rotated as we hit… there would be plenty… of space!”

“Stop wasting your energy on talking and break the wall!”

“I am… a strategist! Not a… stonemason!”

“This was your plan!”

“It was a bad plan!”

With a frustrated growl Mark tossed the hammer aside, resting his hands on his knees as he gasped and struggled for breath. “I should’ve paid more attention to the… damned fitness classes…”

“What are you doing?” Lyn asked. “We need to get in-”

“Up the scaffolding, go over the top,” Mark panted.

“What? But that would leave us…” Lyn said, cocking her head slightly.

“Trapped, yes,” Mark sighed, straightening. “Unless, of course, we go through the bandits. Which was the plan anyway. Want me to go first so you have something soft to land on?”

“I… you are sure about this?” Lyn asked.

“Sure, why not?” Mark shrugged, taking another few deep breaths.

“Very well,” Lyn grinned. “I will lead. You watch the rear.”

“Oh your rear is so watched- you know what, that sounded better in my head. Forget I said that.”

Lyn, laughing so hard that tears began to form in her eyes, bolted up the scaffolding beside the wall with the sure movements of a gymnast. Mark watched her in awe before sighing and shaking his head, muttering to himself as he began to follow at a much slower pace. Hand over hand he climbed until he reached the gap where the damaged stones had fallen away at his blows, where Lyn was waiting for him, still grinning.

“How was my rear?” she asked playfully.

“I hate you right now,” Mark grumbled, poking his head into the shrine.

Ignoring Lyn’s soft laughter he scanned the interior. A small pulpit in one corner with three men standing near it; more bandits, none of them looking much older than he was. Towards the back, huddled in the corner were three more men in robes, who Mark assumed were the monks. The shrine itself was a simple affair; rough stone floors, worn smooth by generations of feet passing over it, the pulpit itself covered in a threadbare rug. Regularly spaced columns would provide cover if they needed it, something that the bandits didn’t seem to be inclined to make use of. A sheathed sword sat on the pulpit, one of the bandits constantly looking back and forth between the entrance and the sword. Towards the entrance…

“Where the hell is Sain?” Mark hissed.

Kent was fighting alone at the entrance, the knight holding his own against at least five other opponents. Lyn leaned forward, too, resting her hand on Mark’s shoulder to balance herself.

“Perhaps he was wounded?” she suggested.

“It doesn’t matter, we’re out of time,” Mark said. “Use the columns as cover and follow me.”

With that, he slipped forward and dropped into the shrine. He landed heavily and rolled onto his shoulder, coming up in a crouch behind the nearest column, the way he’d been taught. As he unsheathed his rapier Lyn landed behind him in a crouch, her catlike movements going totally unseen by the bandits. Mark could hear them, now, in a state of near panic.

“Glass, whadda we do?”

“Shut it! It’s just one knight!”

“There were two of ‘em!”

“So where’s the other!?”

“They must’a got him already!”

“They killed Ames! And Naz, too!”

“I said shut it, Saul! Soon as we get the sword-”

“Glass, wake up! The sword rejected you! There’re knights outside! We gotta scram!”

“Not without the sword! I’m the greatest swordsman in all of Sacae! I will have this blade!”

Mark grinned a little to himself as he listened to the men arguing. Of course it had to be a bunch of prideful idiots that had taken the shrine. Feeling a new sense of confidence the strategist stepped out of the shadow of the column he was behind, his rapier hanging limp in his hand. “You know, if you really were the best swordsman in Sacae one would assume you wouldn’t need the fancy sword.”

All three of the bandits spun, eyes wide as the beheld the lone stranger leaning casually against the column.

“Now, my friend here? She’s about to take you to school. Pay attention,” Mark added, his grin only growing.

With a wrathful shout, right on cue, Lyn sprung from behind her own column. Her old sword flashed, one of the bandits falling beneath her onslaught before he could even bring his weapon up.

“Have fun, Lyn!” Mark called, bouncing off the column with a lazy wave of his hand. “I’m gonna go help the Knights!”

“Seriously!?” Glass, the bandit’s leader, snarled. “You make that big entrance then you leave the girl-”

Whatever else he was going to say was lost when he leapt back, Lyn’s blade missing him by a hair’s breadth as she snarled wordlessly at the two men.

“Cowards!” she roared. “You dare invade this sacred place!? I offer your blood as tribute to the Earth Mother!”

“Pah, ancient superstitious nonsense!” Glass snapped back, raising his own sword. “I ain’t afraid of you or the Earth Mother! C’mon!”

He was taking a chance here, letting Lyn fight the two remaining men on her own. But Lyn was a ferocious fighter, if a little unfocused. Mark sincerely doubted she’d have much trouble with them. Kent, on the other hand, he could already tell was tiring in the entrance. Sain was still nowhere to be seen, meaning that his plans had to be adapted.

Flourishing his rapier and breaking into a jog Mark did some quick assessments in his head. Five bandits were still crowding Kent. Three of which were currently in his face. Two had fallen back, both sporting wounds. It left a bad taste in his mouth, but Mark slowed as he approached to better mask his footsteps. With an impassive face the strategist studied the back of the closest bandit, the dirty man still glaring at Kent and clutching his wounded arm. With a nod Mark found the right spot, sliding his rapier through the bandit’s cheap armour and into his heart. Dead before he hit the floor, the bandit’s death still caught the attention of his friend. The second wounded one, bleeding profusely from a cut to his scalp, brought up an axe when he spotted Mark. The strategist sidestepped into the bandit’s blind-spot, where he was blinded by the blood running down his face, and with another perfect lunge he felled the second man.

His teacher would have been proud of his form. The killing wounded men, while a necessity, wasn’t something that he felt like taking pride in, though.

A sour look came onto Mark’s face as he turned back to Kent. In the distance he could see Sain finally approaching on foot and his horse following behind with a limp, which explained where the other knight had been. Kent, panting heavily now, still swung his sword with what could only be described as ‘parade-ground precision’, but it was obvious he was tiring. Stepping forward into the melee, Mark decided to do something before there was more wounded on his side.

Between the three of them, the remaining bandits didn’t stand a chance. He only hoped Lyn was doing as well as they were.

* * *

With a wordless roar Lyn stalked forward, knocking aside the axe-wielding man’s blows and lashing out with a vicious kick at his midsection before dancing back again, the blade-wielding bandit moving in to defend his winded comrade. Lyn spun in response, her hair and clothes flicking out as she put more distance between them, bringing her battered old sword back up.

This wasn’t the first time she’d fought two enemies at once. Her father had been diligent in his training, and more often than not had employed the assistance of the other men of the village to make her training more ‘realistic’. The axe-wielding bandit was no issue. He was slow, unwieldly, untrained. But the other man, who had been named as Glass by the others… he was skilled. When Lyn went to strike at his partner, Glass would be there to deflect the blow. When Lyn had to make space, Glass was there pushing her further back. Already he’d foiled perfect killing blows on the weaker man twice now, and pushed Lyn back towards the columns three times.

He was good. The thought made Lyn grin.

“Find something funny, girl?” Glass spat. “Not so good now that I see you coming, are ya?”

“You never see death coming until it’s too late,” Lyn said, her eyes never leaving Glass’.

“Too true, little bird, too true,” Glass chuckled. “What tribe are you from? Tell me so I know where to send your ashes.”

“Glass, man, we don’t have time for-” the other bandit started.

“Shut it! She’s worth it!” he snapped, rounding on the other man before turning back to Lyn with a smile. “I’m Glass, formerly of the Kutolah, now a free man. Why don’t you come with me? Together with our skills we could be the king and queen of this wretched country!”

Lyn spat, her grin becoming a scowl. “You face Lyn of the Lorca. And I’d rather marry a horse.”

Glass snorted with laughter, shaking his head. “It’s always the pretty ones that don’t have a clue.”

“Be silent!” Lyn snapped. “Are we going to talk or fight!?”

“By all means, then, Lyn of the Lorca!” Glass shouted, bringing his sword up. “Saul, go help the others! This one’s mine!”

“But-”

“You’re in the damn way! Get lost!”

The axe-wielding man, Saul, looked back and forth between Lyn and Glass for a moment before lowering his head and running off towards the entrance, leaving the two swordsmen to face each other without distractions.

Neither spoke, simply eying their opponent and waiting for an opening. Lyn knew that this moment was crucial; to act hastily now would spell her defeat, but to wait too long and miss her chance was also a possibility. Like her father had taught her, she needed to wait for just the right moment, watch his eyes, look for the tells…

Glass was doing the same. His brown-eyed gaze never shifted from hers, both of them still as statues as they waited for some unseen signal.

All at once both swordsmen burst into motion, charging towards each other. Their blades clashed two, three, four times in the blink of an eye, the sound almost one long clang their blows were so close together. And yet, through the storm of steel and violence, both combatants looked oddly at peace.

Lyn wheeled around, striking high. Glass ducked low, kicking out at her legs. Lyn leapt, summersaulting over him and striking at his shoulder. Glass shifted to the side at the last minute, his tunic opening where it had been cut. They danced away from each other for a moment before coming back together, their blades locked now as Glass tried to use his superior size against his smaller opponent. Lyn grit her teeth and dug in her heels, refusing to give any more ground.

“You’re good,” Glass commented through clenched teeth. “I think I’m in love! But… I don’t think that old piece of crap… can handle much more, eh?”

Lyn risked taking her eyes off her opponent for the briefest of moments to study her sword. The old weapon her father had given her to train with had been in rough shape when she’d gotten it, but Lyn had made it last with proper care and maintenance. However it now appeared that the weapon was on its last legs, many more new chips and cracks in the blade now.

_Please, just a little longer, old friend,_ she begged, her eyes returning to Glass’.

“I’d be more worried… about yourself!” Lyn snarled, ducking low and letting Glass’ pressure carry him past her.

They both spun, clashed again, and this time Lyn’s sword wasn’t up to the task. The blade snapped, and Glass’ sword bit deep into her shoulder.

The victorious laugh died on Glass’ lips, though, as the broken half of the sword still in Lyn’s hand came up beneath his guard. With a pained shout Lyn rammed the broken sword into Glass’ undefended throat, the bandit choking as blood began to pour down his chest.

With the last of her strength Lyn shoved the man back, both of their weapons coming free as the two combatants fell. Glass landed heavily on his back and lay still in a widening pool of blood, his empty eyes staring up at the shrine’s roof as his last breath left him.

“Father… Father s-sky… take you…” Lyn mumbled, falling to one knee.

Her arm hung limply at her side, and her vision was already beginning to blur from the blood-loss. She glanced up, first at Glass’ body, then at the Mani Katti sitting on the pulpit at the back of the shrine.

Voices indistinct against the rushing sound of her blood in her ears said something, but Lyn couldn’t make it out. Instead she felt a familiar stinging sensation as someone poured a medical vulenary on her injured shoulder, the flesh knitting itself back together with the help of the magical liquid.

“-be more careful, Lyn. These things aren’t cheap.”

“Mark?” Lyn muttered, looking up over her shoulder.

The strategist grinned down at her, already tucking the empty vial into his pocket.

“Nice work. How’re you feeling?” he asked, offering her his hand.

“I want to take a bath,” she said truthfully before she could stop herself.

 “And some laundry too, I’d wager,” Mark laughed, pointedly looking down at her blood-soaked clothes. “He got you good at the end there.”

“He was a worthy opponent,” Lyn agreed with a nod.

She glanced down at the half of her old sword still clenched in her hand and had to resist the urge to sigh. She had had the weapon for years, but it had given its last to defend not only her but the innocent monks as well. It was a fitting end for the blade, but she would miss it.

“Ah! My Lady Lyn, my heart! Are you well? Has your wound- Kent, stop pulling!”

Lyn glanced up to see the two knights approaching, their mounts tied up outside already. Kent was holding an over-excited Sain back with one hand on his scruff, the other man clearly struggling to get to Lyn’s side. Mark sighed and shook his head, and it was then that Lyn realised she was still holding his hand.

“Apologies,” she said, releasing him and looking away.

Mark just quirked his head, but remained silent as the two knights joined them.

“Are you both okay?” Lyn asked.

“Oh, my darling Lady, my heart, your worry for my welfare-” Sain started before Kent cut him off.

“Minor injuries, nothing a few vullenaries and a good night’s rest won’t fix,” the red-haired knight spoke over Sain.

“Good, I’m glad,” Lyn said with a tired smile.

“Anyone else injured?” Mark called over to the monks, now beginning to pick themselves up as they realized they had been rescued.

A particularly wizened looking man stepped towards them, two younger monks looking around at the carnage in a shell-shocked fashion. The older man had a great white beard and long, thin white hair he tied away from his face, and although he wore the same simple brown robes as the other two he exuded an aura of age and wisdom. His beard, however, could not hide the purple bruising to the left side of his face, nor the split in his lower lip. Clearly Glass had taken his frustration out on the monks.

“Thank you, travellers,” the old monk said. “I never thought I would live to see the day Lycian knights were forced to save us from our own people.”

“No, sir monk, it was not at our behest we fought,” Kent said, bowing. “Your gratitude belongs to our Lord, Lady Lyndis.”

The monk turned to regard the younger pair of Mark and Lyn, the Sacaean girl fidgeting uncomfortably before making a stiff, awkward bow.

“I see,” the old man smiled. “A Lycian lordling who is quite clearly of Sacaean birth? It is a strange time, indeed. A strange, strange time… Raise your head, young one. I trust you’ve come to lay hands on the sacred blade, yes? I give you my blessing, and the blessings of the Earth Mother.”

“Th-thank you, wise one,” Lyn stammered, her nervous face splitting into a smile.

She stood for a moment, watching as the old monk walked back towards the pulpit and sword until Mark nudged her in the back.

“Go on, this is what we came for, yeah?” he grinned. “I’ll take care of our pet knights. Now, you two. Show me your weapons. I want to check their durability.”

Lyn smirked at Mark’s business-like tone, even as he teased their two companions, before turning once more to the pulpit. Her boots were almost disturbingly loud in the near-silence of the shrine now the others had left. The two younger monks were already silently going about the business of clearing up the mess and removing the bodies, a task she didn’t envy of them, but the head monk was waiting near the pulpit.

“Now, child, touch the Mani Katti’s hilt, and be blessed on your journey,” he said.

Lyn nodded, reaching out and gingerly running her fingertips along the worn leather of the Mani Katti’s handle, before resting her palm atop it. A faint warmth suffused her hand, before spreading to the rest of her body and drawing forth a gentle smile from the girl.

A blinding flash of light surprised Lyn and the monks, Lyn dropping to a crouch and holding her broken sword like a dagger as she looked around for an incoming attack, but the head monk’s gasp brought her attention back to the Mani Katti.

“The blade… I don’t believe it…” the old man muttered. “Young Lyn, I would ask that you try to draw the blade from its sheathe.”

Lyn rose slowly, furrowing her brow as she tucked the broken sword back into her belt. “I… will try, but the legends say none can draw the sword.”

“I am aware of what the legends say,” the head monk chuckled. “But please, indulge this old man’s whim.”

Nodding, Lyn stepped forward again and faced the sword. She reached out, her hands hovering above the blade for a moment before she lifted it up, sheathe and all. With a growing sense of trepidation she wrapped her main hand around the handle and slowly pulled.

The Mani Katti slid free of its sheathe with ease, the perfect blade glinting in the afternoon sun streaming in through the hole she and Mark had made. Eyes wide with wonder Lyn’s mind froze, unsure what to do now. It wasn’t until the head monk started laughing that she looked up from the sword in her hand.

“Strange times, indeed,” the old man laughed. “To think, I’d live long enough to see the wielder of the sacred blade…”

“Wielder?” Lyn repeated breathlessly.

“Of course,” the head monk smiled. “The blade chose you. The Earth Mother has entrusted her sword with no other. With excellent timing, too, I see.”

Lyn blushed, angling her hips so her broken sword was slightly hidden behind her. The head monk just smiled and shook his head, stepping forward again and resting rough, callused hands on her shoulders.

“Lyn of the Lorca, you are the wielder of the Mani Katti,” he said, the reverent tone of his voice ruined by the wide smile on his face.

Lyn nodded woodenly, her face still slack with shock.

* * *

That evening, after sending a group to help the monks clean the shrine, the nomad tribes of the village had deigned to throw a giant party for the ‘discovery of the wielder of the Mani Katti’. It was well after dark now, though, and to Mark the festivities didn’t look like they would be winding down any time soon.

Kent was talking with a number of the nomad men about the differences between Sacaean and Lycian riding techniques by the fire. The red haired knight was still almost as dour as the nomads he was conversing with, but Mark was happy to see that he’d found something to keep him occupied besides chasing Sain around.

The other knight in question was still busy merrily dancing with the young women of the tribes, their laughter ringing loud into the night. As long as he didn’t do anything to anger their hosts, Mark was content to leave him be, too.

The strategist himself was sitting aside from the others, watching the party and making notes in his journal. This was the first time he’d seen a Sacaean party in person, and he was enraptured by his curiosity. Everything about them was so alien, so fascinating, just as he had admitted to Lyn earlier that day.

Lyn, though, had disappeared with Isal earlier, for what he had no idea. By then he’d already been attempting to sketch the way the nomads sat around the fire in his journal.

“Is this how my master strategist spends his victory celebration? Alone, with his nose buried in his book?”

Mark glanced up at the familiar voice, grinning. “Why should I spend it any differently to how I spend any other… uh… wow…”

He trailed off when he looked up at Lyn, smiling down at him. It took a moment to recognize her. She had traded her damaged tunic for a scarlet one, similar to Isal’s but longer at the bottom, reaching to her knees. Her hair had been braided, too, beads and feathers mixed into the long braids that fell over her shoulders and down her chest. Her new sword, the Mani Katti that had been the source of the day’s trouble, hung proudly from her belt, her hand never drifting far from it.

“Isal loaned me the tunic,” she said bashfully. “She insisted on fixing mine personally. And Ilit… Ilit wanted to braid my hair.”

“It looks… uh… different,” Mark managed lamely.

“Do… you like it?” Lyn asked shyly.

“It… you… ah… look great,” the strategist mumbled.

“Thank you,” Lyn laughed, reaching down and dragging Mark up by the wrist. “Now, enough watching. Come, let me teach you how Sacaeans dance!”

“No, Lyn, I can’t dance! Stop!” Mark laughed, slipping his journal back into his pouch as he was dragged towards the fire and the other dancers.

Lyn just laughed, smiling over her shoulder again, and Mark felt all of his resistance to the idea leave him.

“Well, okay, but you have to let me make notes afterwards.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What lesson did I learn from Invisible Ties? Pacing. What lesson did I learn from A Song of Dusk and Dawn? Do. Not. Copy. The. Game. Script. Especially if you’re going to add and expand on characters. Messes with your characterization.


	3. Chapter 3

Mark looked up at the mountains, a deep sense of foreboding in his chest that seemed to go totally unnoticed by his travelling companions. The wind howled mournfully through dagger-sharp peaks, cold grey stone meeting his gaze wherever he looked. The long, flowing grasses of the Sacaean plains had slowly but surely dwindled to the scraggy, limp weeds that now dotted the barren soil, brown and desiccated.

“Now make sure you keep warm,” Isal was saying to Lyn in the wagon behind him. “Your Lorca tunic may be fine for the plains, but up here in the mountains it gets much cooler, especially at night.”

“Yes, Isal,” Lyn said, smiling.

“Are you sure you don’t want one of mine? I have a spare,” the older woman pestered.

“I’ll be fine,” Lyn smirked, rolling her eyes. “You already gave me your spare cloak.”

The older Nomad woman let out a throaty laugh, wrapping Lyn in a tight hug.

“By the Mother Earth I hope it is a long time before my own little one speaks to me in that tone!”

“I’m sure Ilit will grow into a strong young woman before you know it,” Lyn said, returning the embrace.

They had travelled with the Uciar tribe for the last week, the spirited women and the dour men making for fascinating travel companions, to say the least. Mark had almost filled his journal, he’d learned so much about the Sacaean people. From their diet to their hunting rituals, their dress codes and the way they interacted with other tribes, it was all utterly fascinating to him. Of course, to Lyn this was all common knowledge, Kent was interested in little more than Lyn’s safety and all Sain cared about was wooing the Uciar ladies, so Mark was left alone to his musings most of the time.

Or so he had thought, but Isal’s young daughter Ilit had grown quite fond of the surly strategist. She sat next to him on the wagon now, watching with wide, curious eyes as he scratched away with his charcoal pencil in his journal. He would have preferred ink, but he couldn’t risk spilling his already dwindling supply if the wagon hit an unexpected bump. He would just ink the pages later.

“What’s that word mean?” Ilit asked, stubby fingers suddenly pointing at the page Mark had just finished on.

“Therefore,” Mark explained. “It’s a fancy way of saying ‘so’.”

“Then why not just write so?” Ilit asked, looking up at him innocently.

“This makes me sound smarter,” Mark shrugged.

“Read it to me?” the little girl asked, her long black braids swaying with the motion of the wagon.

Mark rolled his eyes, resigning himself to reading the whole page to the girl. It wouldn’t have been the first time. She was insatiably curious, a strange trait for the Sacaean people, apparently. Mark almost had half a mind to suggest Isal send her daughter to the tactician academy Mark had come from. However, sending her there would require knowing how to get back home in the first place.

“Alright, but you probably won’t understand,” Mark sighed before clearing his throat and beginning to read his notes in a low voice. “We came upon another caravan heading inland from the mountains today. An offshoot group from the Kutolah tribe, from the looks of their iconography. I didn’t ask. We pass so many other caravans on the plains it has gotten to be a chore trying to keep track of all the different clans and sub-clans. See the separate appendix page I’ve added at the back of this journal for notes I’ve made on clan markings. However, unusually this caravan had wagon covers made using the patterns that Isal had explained to me were from the Kutolah, therefore I can safely assume my guess is correct.”

Ilit was silent for a moment before looking up at Mark again. “Why couldn’t you just say ‘we rode past another caravan that I thought were Kutolah’?”

Outside the wagon Mark heard Sain snicker, and the strategist blushed.

“Because I’ve been taught to write a certain way,” he huffed, clapping his journal closed.

“You would probably not have filled up that journal so fast if you write simpler sentences,” Lyn added.

Mark rolled his eyes, Ilit giggling as she moved to the older Sacaean girl.

“Mark is funny, isn’t he?” Lyn cooed, both girls giggling now.

The strategist just sighed, rolling his eyes and tuning them out as he went back to studying the mountains. They were barren, at least when compared to the lush Sacaean plains. There were no trees to provide shade, although that wasn’t surprising, given that Mark had seen very few trees the entire time he’d been in Sacae. But there was still something ominous, something foreboding about these peaks. Mark was no mage but he had known a few, and they often spoke of the residual effects of things coloring the landscape they happened on. A graveyard was a place of death, and even most non-mages could feel that. Likewise, a fairground was usually a place of life and fun, of happiness and joy, and this could be felt in the location’s aura.

Mark couldn’t help but think, as the wagon lurched to a final stop, that these mountains felt more like the graveyard example.

Still, though, the Uciar tribe barely seemed to register this malign aura as they dismounted the wagons, a protective ring of horsemen already moving to circle the defenseless wagons. Lyn was much the same, heedlessly jumping down from the back of the carriage before reaching back up to help Ilit down.

“Ah it feels good to stretch my legs again,” she declared, setting the girl down.

Mark gave a noncommittal huff as he jumped down himself, stretching his back and eying the narrow mountain trail they would apparently be following.

“I miss the wagon already,” he commented bitterly.

“All you have done for the last week was complain about the wagon and now you’re finally out you want it back?” Lyn laughed.

“If I didn’t complain you’d forget I was there,” Mark shrugged.

He looked back at the wagon just in time to see his heavy pack, stuffed with his and Lyn’s supplies and meagre belongings, come flying at his face. He managed to catch the bag-turned-projectile, glaring over top of it at a grinning Isal.

“If I had to carry that bag up that mountain I’d be complaining, too,” the older woman chuckled, hopping down herself now and coming up to Lyn. “I’m sorry we couldn’t spare one. Do you have everything you need, though? Enough supplies? Blankets for the nights?”

“Yes, Isal,” Lyn laughed. “You and your tribe have been beyond generous. We have everything we need and then some. Right, Mark?”

“Yup, and I get to carry it all,” the strategist groaned.

“The Uciar owe you a great debt, Lyndis of the Lorca,” Isal said with a wan smile. “And I worry about one so young surrounded by nothing but foreign men.”

“You have nothing to fear, Lady Isal,” Kent promised, urging his mount alongside them. “My partner and I have sworn to uphold her safety above all else.”

“Plus, I’ve seen her fight,” Mark added dryly. “And trust me when I say I would not risk ending up on the receiving end of one of her little rampages for anything.”

“I do not have rampages,” Lyn huffed, blushing a little.

“Outside Bulgar?” Mark said, quirking a brow. “Or in the temple? Face it, you’ve got anger issues.”

“I do not!” Lyn protested, looking to the Knight hovering above them. “Kent! Tell Mark I don’t have anger issues!”

“I would not be as presumptuous as to state what you do or do not have, milady,” the orange-haired knight stated diplomatically.

“Toldja,” Mark grinned.

Isal gave a laugh, giving Lyn another tight hug. In the carriages and wagons behind them the other women and children were leaning out now, shouting their own advice and farewells, or just trying to get one last look at the travelers they were to part with. Mark found it almost strange how attached they had gotten, especially to the foreigners, but Isal was especially attached to Lyn.

“We will miss you,” the older nomad said as she pulled back.

“And I you, Isal,” Lyn smiled.

“Come, Ilit, their journey can wait no longer,” Isal said to the small form wrapped around Lyn’s leg.

“No!” Ilit cried. “I don’t want Lyn to go!”

Lyn smiled softly, leaning down to give the girl a hug of her own now.

“This is not farewell forever,” Lyn promised. “If you be a good girl we will see each other again.”

“Really?” Ilit sniffled, looking up at the older girl.

“Really,” Lyn nodded.

Ilit sniffled again, turning her big watery gaze on Mark. He frowned, but managed to resist the temptation to roll his eyes.

“Yeah, so… stop crying? I guess?” he shrugged. “A lifetime is a long, long time. I’m sure we’ll be back through here sooner or later.”

The girl nodded before sniffling one final time and crossing to her mother, latching onto the woman’s hand.

“Farewell, travelers,” Isal said with a final smile.

Mark turned away, tuning out the chorus of farewells from the Uciar tribe and glancing up at the steep mountain path. He gave a tired sigh, grip tightening on the straps of the bag on his shoulders.

“And hello mountain,” he muttered.

* * *

 

The next few days Mark spent in a fatigued blur, focusing simply on putting one foot ahead of the other as the small party followed the mountain path. Lyn set a fairly harsh pace, one that the mounted Lycian knights seemed all too happy to keep to. Mark, on the other hand, felt that they were ignoring the fact that he was burdened with a pack containing the gear and supplies of two. At one point he had suggested that they jury-rig some saddle bags, just to get the heavier nonessential gear off his shoulders, but Kent and Sain had actually taken offense to his suggestion of using proud Lycian warhorses as ‘common pack mules’. So, he was stuck. And apparently worth less to the knights than the horses.

The quartet came to the top of yet another rise, Mark letting out a tired sigh as his feet finally found purchase on flat ground again. Kent and Sain went further ahead, following the winding path around a nearby bend to scout ahead. The strategist glanced up as someone held a waterskin out to him, accepting it gratefully.

“You know, I could carry my own share,” Lyn offered.

Mark took a long drink of the tepid water before answering, giving a relieved sigh as he felt some life return to his mind.

“In what, all your many hidden pockets?” he asked, handing the skin back. “We don’t exactly have another pack. I’m more surprised those two idiots came all the way to Sacae with absolutely no supplies.”

“Says the one I found passed out on the plains with nothing to his name except a sword and an old coat,” Lyn agreed, smirking a little.

“Of course, I think you and I might have the opposite problem,” Mark groaned, shrugging the heavy pack off and rotating his stiff shoulders. “Do we really need all of this junk?”

“Yes,” Lyn laughed. “Are you sure you don’t want me to carry it for a little while?”

Mark went quiet for a moment, glaring at the pack.

“Mark?” Lyn laughed.

“I’m considering it,” he said thoughtfully. “Would that mean I get to carry the fancy sacred sword?”

Lyn laughed again, giving the strategist a playful shove. “Yes, but you still wouldn’t be able to draw it.”

“I could always just bludgeon people do death with the scabbard,” he shrugged.

Before Lyn could retort and remind him that the Manni Kati was an important part of her cultural heritage and not some common club, the two knights came charging back around the bend. Mark took one look at their faces and let out a forlorn sigh, preemptively hoisting the bag back onto his shoulders as Lyn stepped to meet them.

“What news?” she asked.

“There’s a small village in the hollow around the bend,” Kent reported, all business. “It appears to have been attacked.”

“Bandits?” Lyn asked, her hands already clenching into fists.

“Most likely,” Sain sighed. “Whatever happened seems to be at least a few days old. There was no sign of either bandits or villagers. The entire area is in ruins. Why doesn’t their marquess do anything to help?”

“Taliver Mountain is home to gangs of vicious, ruthless bandits,” Lyn explained, looking down. “No marquess holds power here. My clan would make camp near here, on the other side of the mountain. My people were… The Taliver bandits came at night. It took only one night. The survivors numbered less than ten, including me.”

The girl paused for a moment, before her gaze snapped back up. There were no tears, only grim determination. A survivor’s grit, Mark assumed.

“They’re soulless beasts,” she said in a cold voice. “I will never forgive them. Never.”

“Which is why we’re travelling,” Mark explained to the two knights. “To train. To come back and give them what’s coming to them.”

“I am not running away,” Lyn declared. “I will be back…someday. I’ll be stronger… I will break their swords beneath me like twigs beneath a stallion’s hooves. I will avenge my people. I’ll do everything in my power.”

“We will,” Mark corrected her.

Lyn paused for a moment to smile at the tactician, giving him a grateful nod. “Yes. Yes, we will.”

“When that day comes, make sure to take me with you,” Sain said, giving Lyn a wink.

“Sain?” she said curiously.

“And don’t forget me,” Kent added, grinning somewhat sheepishly. “We are Knights of Caelin. When our Lady goes to war, so too do we.”

“All of us,” Mark assured Lyn, resting a hand on her slim shoulder.

Lyn gave a choked-up laugh, turning away to wipe at her eyes.

“Thank you, all of you,” she said, turning back to them with a radiant smile. “However, first we must pass through these mountains. And this ruined town. Mark?”

“Right,” he said, dropping the hand at her shoulder. “We should move as a unit, stick together. The last thing we need is to get separated and overrun. Until we can discern their numbers and positions we’ll need to be cautious. And subtle. Sain.”

“I swear on my lance I will be the very definition of subtlety,” the green-armored man said, rolling his eyes.

“You two go ahead and wait around the bend for us,” Mark went on. “I’d like eyes on the village for as long as possible before we approach. Nightfall is in a few hours, and I’d like to know that nothing’s going to sneak up on us while we rest, so let’s get this done fast and proper.”

“By your leave, Lady Lyndis,” Kent said, looking to Lyn.

“Go,” she nodded.

Mark rolled his own eyes, admittedly frustrated that his orders went ignored until Lyn gave the knights permission. But she was technically their lord, and there were more important matters to address than his bruised ego.

“Lyn, are you going to be okay?” he asked, coming alongside the young woman as they followed the knights.

“I will be fine,” she said, her tone clipped.

“Just keep it together, okay?” he insisted. “Get as mad as you want, just don’t break formation. There’s only four of us. We need to fight smart. We need to be careful.”

“I know, Mark,” Lyn said, her jaw tight.

“I’ll be right here, okay?” he added.

Lyn hesitated for a moment before some of the tension left her shoulders.

“Thank you, Mark,” she said softly. “It is good to know you have my back.”

“What? No, I’m trying to remind you you’re my human shield,” Mark scoffed with a grin. “So don’t go running off. I also have all your stuff.”

This time Lyn burst out laughing, shaking her head as they caught up with the knights. Mark stepped past them up to a ledge overlooking the field, inspecting the village the way he had been trained. Or what had once been a village, to be more accurate. A few buildings still stood, but most were charred ruins. Even those that remained had obviously seen better days, rough boards hastily nailed over holes and windows alike. A small hill protruded in the center of the village, cutting off their view of the far side and making Mark think that it would be the perfect place to walk into an ambush. Plenty of cover on their side, though. They could stick close to the buildings, carefully pick their way through. Lure the bandits into an ambush of their own.

Beside him Lyn tensed up again, and the strategist reached over and gave her shoulder another comforting squeeze.

“Advance slowly,” Mark said, giving voice to his earlier thoughts. “Until we can verify that the village is clear I want us to proceed with caution-”

Mark’s orders were cut off by a loud shriek from the opposite end of the village, behind the hill, and in his head the orders shifted. He gave an irritated groan and ran his hand down his face as the others looked to him.

“Forget everything I just said! Kent, Sain, move!” he shouted, gears turning in his head. “We’ll be right behind you! Lyn, let’s go!”

This time, to Mark’s silent satisfaction, the two knights heeded his instructions and took off for the ruined village at a gallop. Lyn, too, raced after them, quickly outpacing him and leaving the over-burdened strategist to follow at his own pace. He trusted that she would show at least some restraint, although if she didn’t then having two armored knights there to back her up wouldn’t hurt her survivability any. Shaking his head clear Mark hoisted the pack further up on his shoulders, grumbling as he followed Lyn down the path into the village at a trot, wary of falling and twisting an ankle.

After only a few moments Lyn had left Mark far behind, too, burdened as he was with their gear. He knew, though, that with his luck the second he put the pack down some opportunistic scavenger, human or otherwise, would appear to relieve him of his meagre belongings.

By the time he caught up with the others they were already charging towards the bandits, the rough men’s voices carrying through the deserted village. Whatever was going on had moved beyond the hill into their line of sight, a small miracle as far as Mark was concerned.

“Wait right there, little lady! What are you going to do to apologize? Huh? That thing landed on my damned face!”

There was a small girl next to the bandit, her lilac hair disheveled as she tried to pull her wrist free of his grip. She appeared to stammer something, but her thin voice didn’t carry like the bandit’s did.

“Hey, she’s quite a catch, eh, buddy? I bet the boss’d give us a pretty penny for her.”

Mark heard the second man speak perfectly, though, and judging from the burst of speed from Lyn she had, too. In a heartbeat she almost caught up to the knights on their horses. But they were still too far off. Seconds were an eternity on the field, anything could happen; it would take a heartbeat for a bandit to break the delicate-looking girl’s arm, or run her through with one of their swords, or stab her with a hidden dagger, or any number of horrible things. Even just a change of positions could undo everything Mark was already coming up with, and the way things looked the battle-lines wouldn’t stay static much longer. Deciding that he had to intervene before matters escalated and the young woman did end up hurt Mark began to rummage through his pockets, looking for something, anything that could help.

“Yeah. She roughed me up a bit, so I figure fair’s fair. It’s no more’n she deserves.”

“What are we gonna do with her flyin’ mule, though?”

“Don’t you dare touch him!”

Mark definitely heard the girl that time, wincing at the high pitch of her voice. It was a panicked shriek. Things were deteriorating fast. Much too fast.

A few of the bandits had noticed Lyn and the knights now and were trying to get their leader’s attention. Mark decided he was out of time just as his hand wrapped around something heavy in his coat’s pocket, and without looking he pulled it out and threw it at the lead bandit as hard as he could. The small object sailed in a lazy arc through the air, Mark’s aim true. The man jerked back as a glass vial shattered in his face, releasing the girl with a shout. The shout elongated, turning into a scream of agony as he clutched at his face. The bandit moved his hands to reveal what Mark had thrown; one of their precious vulneraries, healing around the shattered glass embedded in the bandit’s face from the vial. Mark gave a little sound of disgust, lamenting the waste but grateful that his distraction had seemingly worked. Kent and Sain brought their horses rearing up before the men, the rest of the bandits shuffling backward into each other in their alarm. 

“Unhand the lady!” Sain declared with a roar.

“Florina!” Lyn cried. “You monsters! Get away from her!”

“Miss, please retreat to the rear!” Kent called above the others’ war-cries. “We have a companion still coming, he’ll protect you!”

Mark slowed to a stop now, gasping for breath as he watched Lyn and the others from a safe distance. Once he caught his breath he’d join them. He only needed a moment.

“Stupid… stupid bag,” he muttered, resting his hands on his knees. “Gods I hope the others don’t see this. Ah, I am out of shape.”

* * *

 

Lyn grit her teeth against the rage bubbling up inside her, mindful of her promise to Mark to maintain her composure. Still, though, the though of bandits ravaging this village as they had her own tribe caused her blood to boil and her grip to tighten around the Manni Katti’s hilt. And whatever they had been planning to do to Florina…

How dare these men… How dare these monsters threaten little Florina like this?

The young pegasus knight in question fled in tears, leading her mount by the reins back toward where Mark was dawdling. Lyn barely noticed, so intent on the bandits before her. She fought to keep her anger in check, the way she had promised Mark she would, though. With a deep breath through her nose she came to a stop before the bandits, sword held low as Kent and Sain moved directly behind her, flanking her imposingly. The bandits backpedaled, coming together in one knot behind the one who had been shouting.

“Who the hell’re you!?” the bandit who had been accosting Florina snarled through hands still clutched to his face.

“Friends of the girl you were trying to kidnap,” Lyn snarled back.

“Leave this village and never return!” Kent called from above her.

“If you value your lives I’d take my companion’s advice,” Sain added more glibly.

The bandits milled about for a moment, a few looking to the whimpering man still holding his ruined face before they started to back away. After another moment they were in full flight, racing back through the ruined town and around the hill.

Lyn took a few subtle, deep breaths as she fought the urge to race after the men. Florina was safe, and Mark had sworn her to remaining calm. Bearing these two facts in mind Lyn watched the men retreat, clenching her teeth and willing herself to come down from the battle-high she was feeling. After a few moments to make sure the bandits wouldn’t be coming back in the next few moments she sheathed the Manni Katti, turning towards the two knights.

“Kent, can you keep watch?” she asked tersely.

“It will be done,” the knight said, eyes already scanning the village.

With that Lyn began walking back towards where Mark was still doubled-over, Florina standing meekly next to him with her pegasus. Sain brought his horse in at an easy canter beside her as she walked, the other knight grinning down at her.

“Well, that went well,” he said cheerily.

“They’ll be back,” Lyn said darkly. “And with friends. We need to be ready.”

Sain merely nodded, grinning encouragingly. Lyn couldn’t resist casting a glare over her shoulder in the direction the bandits had disappeared in, though, silently willing them to return so she could take her anger out on them. They approached where Florina was waiting next to Mark, the timid young woman shyly trying to get his attention. She would sneak glances at the strategist in between trying to calm herself and wiping at her eyes. When she noticed Lyn approaching she perked up, but something in the other girl’s gaze held her back. 

“Um… ah… um…” Florina mumbled.

“That was fast!” Mark commented without looking up.

A smirk rose unbidden to Lyn’s face, murderous thoughts from before momentarily forgotten.

“And how do you know we’re not the bandits?” she asked.

“I know your footfalls,” Mark said, shaking his head. “Plus, they didn’t have horses. So, Kent and I are perfectly safe.”

Sain snickered, and Lyn gave Florina an apologetic smile. The young pegasus knight just looked back and forth between Lyn and the two strange men.

“Mark, you’re not standing with Kent,” Lyn said, as evenly as she could.

This finally prompted the strategist to glance up, righting himself and taking in the town again.

“What do you mean I’m not- gah! Who’re you!?”

Florina gave a little shriek, positioning herself behind Lyn with lightning speed. As Lyn laughed she couldn’t help but think that it was a shame that Florina was so attached to pegasai; with her natural speed she would have made a fine swordsman.

Sain laughed, too, bringing his horse around Lyn’s other side to lean down to the girl.

“How you could be so blind when such fragile beauty stands so close to you, Mark,” he sighed theatrically, trying to catch Florina’s eye. “Oh, dear flower, please grant me the gift of your name!”

“Easy, Sain,” Lyn chuckled, stepping aside to present the other girl. “Mark, Sain, this is my old friend Florina, a pegasus knight in training from Ilia. She would spend much time with my tribe when we were younger. And she’s a little shy around men. Sain.”

“Oh, my heart, what cruel irony this is,” Sain groaned, moving away from the pair a little to give Florina space.

“It’s… nice to meet you, Florina,” Mark said, glaring at the knight a little.

“Y-you too,” she mumbled, barely looking up from Lyn’s shoulder.

All of a sudden there was a change in the girl as she gasped, moving around to Lyn’s front and flinging her arms around the shocked taller girl.

“Lyn I heard about what happened!” Florina cried. “I’m so sorry!”

Lyn started for a moment before she smiled sadly, running a hand through the other girl’s hair comfortingly, trying in vain to straighten it a little.

“Come now, Florina, no more tears,” she said encouragingly. “I appreciate the grief you share for my people, but now is not the time. Tell me, what are you doing here? You said you were returning to Ilia to join your sister’s mercenary troupe.”

Florina stepped back, sniffling and wiping at her eyes again. Fortunately she didn’t notice how Sain perked up at the word ‘sisters’, and Lyn sent the man a warning glare.

“As soon as I heard what had happened I came rushing back,” she explained. “I… didn’t want you to be alone after… that… When I saw this village I decided to land and ask if they had news of you or your tribe, but…”

“So you did land on those men?” Mark asked, brow quirking.

“Well, I! I… a little… yes…” Florina mumbled.

The younger girl looked down, seemingly sagging under the weight of her light armor. She reached out, one small hand holding onto Lyn’s sleeve as if for support.

“Did you apologize?” Lyn asked encouragingly.

“Yes!” Florina said, watery eyes darting up to Lyn’s. “I did! I told them I was sorry many times over. They just wouldn’t listen…”

“Don’t cry Florina, it will be alright,” Lyn assured her friend.

“Indeed! Dry your tears, Lady Florina!” Sain added unhelpfully.

“Um…” Florina mumbled, sniffling again as she glanced at Lyn.

“It’s a long story, and one we don’t have time for,” Mark cut in. “This is still hostile territory. We need to find the bandits and ensure they don’t assault any more villages or… travelling pegasus knights. Florina, can you fight?”

“I-I can!” she nodded.

Florina whirled, pulling a thin lance from her pegasus’ saddle, giving the beast a loving pat before returning to the others. She clutched the weapon firmly in her hands, and Lyn was gladdened to see that she appeared to have taken the lessons they had been taught to heart.

“Right, you’ll be flying support,” Mark explained. “Sain and Kent, the other knight, are the frontline. Lyn’s ground support, she moves in when there’s an opening and falls back before the bandits get a shot at her. You do the same thing but from the air. And don’t land on any of us. We’re running low on vulneraries.”

“Yes, and I wonder why?” Sain drawled with a smirk, leaning forward in his saddle again.

“Weren’t you the one giving me grief about wasting them?” Lyn asked.

“Hey, improvisation is the mark of a true tactician,” Mark shrugged before clapping his hands. “Right, Sain, let’s go get Kent caught up. Then we can move into the village.”

Lyn watched them go, a small grin rising to her lips as she watched Mark hitch the pack on his shoulders a little higher, already arguing good-naturedly with Sain about making saddlebags for the horses again. It was a little surprising to think of just how close she had come to the three men in only a few short weeks, but such was the way of the People of the Plains. You trusted your travelling companions, your tribe, with your life.

“Uh… Lyn?” Florina asked hesitantly. “Who are these people?”

“The two Knights are Kent and Sain,” she explained, favoring her old friend with another smile. “Mark is my strategist. They’re my friends.”

* * *

 

It was with no small amount of surprise that Mark watched Sain catch his partner up on their plan, sticking to the important points of what they had learned and not even making mention of how pretty he had found Florina. Seeing Sain act professionally almost made Mark uncomfortable, if he were honest.

The strategist glanced back over his shoulder to where Lyn and Florina were now beginning to make their way over, the older girl smiling while Florina looked to be more at ease now. He took a moment to study the newcomer; thin limbs with little excess fat, her long lilac hair reaching halfway down her back was messy but appeared to be well cared for, her pale blue armor looked clean and properly maintained, as did her lance, and the pegasus seemed even-tempered despite its skittish master. Mark had to admit, even though she had calmed down now she still seemed both very young and also out of her element. He had no idea where Ilia was or what it was like in the place, but to force women so young to become mercenaries it must have been harsh. 

He took the chance to peer around the village again, looking for signs of life. It wasn’t usual in his admittedly limited experience for people in a small village like this to just up and leave. People that lived in these kinds of places became hardy, stubbornly defending their homes from nature and outsiders alike.

As his thoughts wandered he almost missed the sound of skittering debris from one of the ruined houses, spinning and drawing his sword as a plain-looking youth stepped out of the building’s burned-out doorway.

“Hey! Woah! Hi there!” the youth said.

The newcomer held his hands up non-threateningly, a bow resting slackly in one hand as he waved his empty hand a little for emphasis. He stopped a few paces away from Mark and the Knights, grinning a little. He wore simple clothes under a basic leather breastplate, his bow old and well-worn, his short brown hair neither messy nor neat. He could almost be considered handsome in a plain sort of way, the kind of man that village girls would happily settle down with. Mark noted that the quiver hanging from his hip was almost empty, and his bowstring looked slightly slack.

“That was nice work with those bandits,” he added. “I’m Wil, and I’ve been-”

Whatever he was going to say was cut of by Florina’s shriek, and as the four men turned they were treated to the odd sight of a girl and a full-grown pegasus trying to hide behind a befuddled Lyn.

“Lyn! Lyn, it’s an archer! What do I do!?” Florina shouted, peeking around Lyn’s shoulder.

“Hey, easy, I’m not here to fight, I’m here to help!” the young man, Wil he’d introduced himself as, called to the girls.

Mark didn’t lower his sword, but he did decide to give the young man a chance.

“Okay then, Wil, talk. You said you wanted to help?”

Wil turned back to Mark, giving him a wide grin, his hands still up.

“I’m a traveler, just like you,” he explained. “These villagers have been kind to me, so I’ve been doing my best to try and keep the bandits at bay. I’ve been trying to keep the others safe, but it’s kind of hard to do with just myself and this old bow. I was actually going to help out the young woman there before you lot showed up, then I figured it would be best to cover you until you scared them off.”

Mark slowly nodded. The archer’s story made a certain sense, although how much he trusted it was another matter. It was oddly convenient that another traveler just happened to be in town at the same time as them. Although his disheveled appearance and worn equipment did provide evidence for his story. Deciding to take the young man on faith, at least until Lyn could weigh in, he lowered his sword and waved the girls over. Wil gave a small relieved sigh, taking Mark’s actions as acceptance and lowering his own hands.

“You heard that?” he asked Lyn.

She nodded, stepping up to Wil.

“Will you aid us?” Lyn asked without preamble.

“If you’re set on taking those bandits down then yes,” Wil said, finally frowning as he looked around at the ruined village. “They’ve done enough damage to this place.”

“My Lady, I would advise caution,” Kent spoke up.

“If it helps, I can tell you where the villagers are,” Wil piped up. “Just past the hill there’s a hidden path that leads into a small valley. There’s fresh water in a spring down there and an overhanging rock, so the villagers hide there when the bandits come. I can show you once the fighting’s over.”

“It’s okay, Kent,” Lyn said. “I trust him. Mark?”

The strategist sighed slightly, shaking his head. Of course, it would be easy for a bandit acting the part of a Good Samaritan protecting the villagers to get closer to them, and with Lyn’s history it would be even easier for such a deception. Wil seemed genuine, but Mark was nothing if not cautious.

“Wil, fall in with me,” the strategist said. “You so much point an arrow at the others and I’ll stab you. The rest of you stick to the same plan. Wil, do you have a rough idea of how many there are?”

“Yes sir! At least fifteen, maybe more, maybe less,” the local archer said. “They tend to come and go as they please. I think they’re part of a larger band that operates in the area, but I don’t recognize any of the group that you chased off.”

“Okay, questions?” Mark asked, looking from face to face.

Florina very slowly raised her hand, avoiding eye contact with Mark.

“Wh-what… do I do if… there’s more… a-archers?” she asked quietly.

“Duck,” Mark deadpanned.

His cold tone made the girl wince and fold in on herself, clasping her hands in front of her chest and shuffling behind Lyn. The other girl frowned at Mark, and the strategist rolled his eyes.

“You just focus on your part of the plan, Lyn and Wil are going to be on archer-patrol, okay? Guys?” Mark sighed.

As he spoke he quirked a brow at Lyn, who nodded satisfied.

“Aye-aye, sir!” Wil said excitedly.

“Alright! Let’s go secure us a safe place to camp so I can take this bag off!” Mark declared.

“I offered to carry it,” Lyn pointed out with a grin.

Mark just rolled his eyes, already moving for the hill in the center of the village.

* * *

 

Pressed low to the bare face of the village’s small hill Lyn breathed the scent of the earth, dusty and cold unlike the familiar scents of the plains. There was no flowing grass here in the mountains; such a small thing for her to notice but a fact that bothered her nonetheless. It was different and alien, and it made her uncomfortable. Like sleeping in Anna’s inn for more than a few days at a time it made her restless, anxious for the familiar soft caress of the flowing grasses of the plains.

Beside her Mark and Wil both lay, the archer calmly waiting for the strategist’s signal while Mark listened carefully for their cue. Below them at the foot of the hill Florina waited astride her pegasus, lance in hand and face set in grim expression. Or rather, as grim as the delicate girl could get. Kent and Sain were across the village, already racing through the abandoned streets atop their mounts.

Mark’s plan to use the horses’ superior speed and maneuverability was simple; the knights would strike first, passing through the bandits, then Lyn and Florina would attack while they were confused, while Wil picked his targets and helped where he could. Mark, still burdened by the pack he was refusing to relinquish, would watch over them.

It was a good plan, and Lyn could feel her teeth grinding together in her desire to see the bandits fall beneath her blade, the hilt of her sacred sword almost seeming to vibrate in her grip in answer to her bloodlust.

Behind them in the town Kent gave a shout and he and Sain veered left around the hill. Some of the bandits on the other side heard and looked up, the sound of pounding hooves now attracting their attention, but it was too late. Without further warning the two Lycian Knights tore through the stunned bandits, sword and lance flashing in sprays of red and clouds of dust as the two men charged through the press of bodies. In the briefest of moments they had passed through, leaving twin trails of wounded and bleeding men in their wake. Lyn gave a low growl, ignoring the concerned glance Mark was shooting her. She had to focus, to rein in her bloodlust and her desire for revenge. They had a plan, and she couldn’t charge into the fray until Kent and Sain came back around and fully engaged the bandits. As much as she wanted to.

Lyn clenched her teeth, willing herself to be calm, to be patient, to not disappoint Mark further.

Then Kent and Sain came back around crying challenges at the bandits and capturing their attention, and before the men had even finished turning Lyn was up and running.

“Lyn, wait- dammit I said wait!” Mark hissed.

She ignored him, up and moving, already sliding down the hill towards the bandits.

Giving her own war cry Lyn barreled towards the bandits, pumping her arms and legs for all they were worth, fully aware that her face was twisted in a horrible snarl. A few of the bandits turned back but by then she was already amongst them, the razor-sharp edge of the Manni Kati cutting a bloody swathe through the men. With another enraged snarl Lyn spun, the sword neatly decapitating one of the taller men. Still she was moving, thrusting the way her mother had taught her on the rare occasions the older woman schooled her in fencing, another bandit shrieking as he was impaled. Lyn tore the weapon free with too much force, unused to the keenness of the sword, and was splattered with gore as the bandit fell. She ignored it, gnashing her teeth and turning again.

She heard Florina land behind her, the girl’s pegasus giving an angry snort as bandits fell away from her, the men shouting something. It was all just a dull roar in Lyn’s ears, words unnoticed and unheeded.

She smiled, her gore-streaked face actually causing some of the weaker men to back away.

Lyn wouldn’t give them the chance to flee, though.

* * *

 

Mark cursed as he watched Lyn slide down the hill, rolling his eyes and turning back to wave Florina up. Technically she had done as he asked and waited for the knights to engage, but Mark had been hoping to have the bandits be more invested in the Lycians before their second group attacked from the rear.

Florina gave a nod and spurred her mount into the air, Mark and Wil both shielding their eyes from the clouds of dust the pegasus’ great wings blew into their faces. As Florina and her mount flew off Mark was slightly surprised to see that the creature was male, given her clear dislike of the opposite sex. He mentally filed the information away for later perusal, focusing instead on the battle at hand.

“Should I start shooting?” Wil asked unnecessarily.

“Yes, Wil, start shooting,” Mark sighed, coughing a little on the lingering dust. “Pick your shots. I don’t want you being out of arrows if one of the others really needs assistance.”

“You got it,” Wil nodded.

The archer slithered up to the top of the hill and took a knee, nocking an arrow and letting out a breath as he drew the string back. Before he inhaled again Wil released, the arrow whistling into the crowd of bandits. The projectile struck true, burying itself between the shoulder blades of a bandit that was about to swing his axe at Kent’s blind spot. The knight didn’t even notice, but as Wil finally inhaled he gave Mark a triumphant grin.

“Yeah, great, now do it again,” the tactician said, rolling his eyes.

The other man gave a cheerful laugh, grinning as he carefully selected another arrow. Mark was only half-paying attention to him, more concerned with Lyn’s breathtaking anger management problems. As he watched she was covered in blood, and Mark made a disgusted sound when she simply ignored it. Of the seventeen bandits he had counted there were already only six remaining. Across the battle the two knights were faring well against the bandits, making good use of their superior reach and mobility. Wil shot two more arrows, making clean hits in support of both Florina and Kent, and Mark came to a snap decision.

Lyn was acting rashly again. She wasn’t watching her blind spots and was getting too tied down fighting individual foes as opposed to the enemy force as a whole. She was liable to get herself killed at this rate, and Mark couldn’t have that.

“Wil, keep shooting support and watch my bag,” he said, shrugging off the heavy bag. “Shoot one of us I stab you. Touch my stuff-”

“And you’ll stab me?” Wil cut in. “Go. I promise I won’t shoot you.”

Mark turned to glare at the archer but Wil wasn’t paying attention, too busy sighting down another arrow and waiting for an opening to shoot at the bandits again. The strategist rolled his eyes and turned away, sliding down the loose shale of the hill in a far less dignified manner than Lyn had.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Mark called over his shoulder.

Once he reached the bottom of the hill he drew his rapier and started towards the melee. Florina spotted him and swooped low, her pegasus making a graceful landing. The girl atop the mount was fare less composed, unable to meet Mark’s questioning gaze.

“Is e-everything… are we… did I…” Florina stammered.

“Everything’s fine, go keep an eye on Wil,” Mark said, barely breaking stride. “If Sain or Kent look like they need it do a few fly-bys. I’ll watch Lyn’s back.”

“R-right…” Florina mumbled, nudging her mount back into the air.

Lyn gave an enraged shout as she struck a blow that tore the axe out of her opponent’s hands, neatly pirouetting and slashing across his throat. Mark winced again before shaking it off and starting towards her. Two more bandits began to back away and the irate Sacaean girl began advancing on them, her shoulders hunched and her breathing ragged.

“Curse you!” Lyn snarled suddenly at the men. “I curse you in the name of my tribe! You and all the Taliver bandits!”

Both men fairly quaked at her wrath and Mark clicked his tongue in annoyance, quickening his pace. One of the men shook his head, throwing his axe at the ground as the other tried to shield himself with his own axe.

“Please! We’re not Taliver! We’re from the Ganelon-”

“You’re all the same!” Lyn thundered, her voice breaking.

As she yelled Lyn brought the sacred Manni Katti down in a rough overhead chop, almost cleaving the unarmed man’s arm clean off. He gave a squeal and dropped, desperately trying to crawl away. Mark ignored him, knowing a fatal wound when he saw one. The surviving bandit retreated another few steps, sweating profusely but actually lifting his weapon.

“P-please!” the man screamed in terror. “Mercy!”

“Lyn!” Mark called.

“Men are given mercy!” Lyn practically screamed. “Dogs get put down!”

 The Sacaen struck with blinding speed, Mark not even seeing her sword strokes, but the bandit fell in a bloody, lifeless heap all the same.

“Lyn!” Mark called again, closer now.

She spun, bringing her weapon up. Mark caught the sacred sword on his rapier, suddenly glad he’d thought to draw it. His arm almost buckled from the strength of Lyn’s blow. He knew that if she hadn’t recognized him there was no way he could have avoided her second attack, but the light of recognition came quickly to her eyes and she frowned.

“I followed your plan,” she said slowly, defensively.

“You did,” Mark said, lowering his rapier and gesturing around them with his free hand. “But we’re done.”

Lyn whirled, sucking in a breath. Kent and Sain were standing watch over three wounded bandits who were doing their best to staunch their wounds not far away. Wil was standing watch atop the hill, bow in hand but no arrow drawn, and Florina came in for another landing as far away from the bandits as possible before having the pegasus trot over. Lyn’s gaze lingered on the wounded men and with a sinking feeling Mark watched her jaw clench, her hand tighten on her sword’s hilt, her knuckles whiten and her breathing hasten.

“No, we’re not,” Lyn growled. “Not yet.”

She started moving towards the wounded men, a predator stalking her prey, and Mark stepped before her to halt her progress.

“Lyn, don’t you dare,” he said in a low, warning tone.

“Mark. Move,” she said without meeting his gaze.

“I won’t let you kill unarmed men,” Mark hissed.

“They’re dogs! Animals!” Lyn seethed through clenched teeth.

“This isn’t you,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “Kill them and you’ll be no better than them.”

It only took a second for Mark to realize what a mistake his words had been. Lyn’s nostrils flared and her eyes widened, and for a moment he was worried she would strike him. To her credit, though, Lyn turned and spat in the direction of the bandits before turning and stalking away.

“Wil!” she shouted. “Where’s that spring you spoke of? Florina, come! Let us… clean up.”

Mark actually managed to catch Florina’s eye this time, mouthing the words _keep an eye on her_ and jerking his chin at Lyn. The other girl flinched but nodded all the same, urging her mount to follow her friend. With a sigh Mark turned back to the wounded, walking over with a frown on his face.

“Well, that looked intense,” Sain commented idly.

“Problem?” Kent asked bluntly.

“No problem,” Mark shook his head.

The strategist moved to stand before the wounded bandits, all of them looking up at him with exhausted gazes.

“Get up,” Mark said suddenly. “Get out. I just went through the effort of saving your worthless lives. Come back and I won’t bother next time. And tell your bosses that this village is off-limits.”

The three men stood slowly, unsurely. One of them blinked at Mark, holding his arm close to his body and favoring his left leg as he shuffled forward.

“Who should we tell ‘em did this?” the bandit asked.

Mark stopped, caught off guard by the question for a moment. He glanced up at Kent and Sain; the red-haired knight said nothing, the other man giving a very unhelpful shrug.

“Tell them Lyn’s Legion patrols these mountains now,” Mark said, turning back to the men. “And that they, and all of your kind, are no longer welcome.”

Without further words the men backed away a few feet before turning and racing out of the village and into the mountains. There was a moment of silence between the strategist and the knights before something fell at Mark’s feet. He glanced down to see his bag, Wil standing not far behind it.

“Gods but that is heavy,” the archer huffed, straightening and giving Mark a winning smile. “So. Lyn’s Legion, huh? Where do I sign up?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: We’re back! I know, I know, the Blazing Blade curse says that most novelizations of this story never make it past Lyn’s campaign. WELL I’M HERE TO BUCK TRENDS! It just… might take a while. Good news is that I’ve added this story to my regular update cycle/schedule. So hopefully it won’t take six months for another chapter to come out. This was just one of those chapters that… wouldn’t. It was a struggle to make the magic happen, and I’m not super satisfied with it, but hey. There’s always next chapter. I was gonna make this one longer, but dammit if that wasn’t a perfect way to end it.   
> ANNOUNCEMENT TIME!  
> Metallover’s back, and in a big way! After a few months of soul-searching and rejection letters I’ve decided that this is where I belong for now, and I’ve got plans for the next few years’ worth of stories. I’m rocking a Patreon account now, so check the link on my bio and just below and give it a look! Please consider dropping a few bucks for my work, I’d really appreciate it. By doing so you’ll not only be supporting me, but you’ll be getting access to drafts, previews and exclusive video-blog posts! Also, like, chapters early and stuff. Maybe art? Original works? Who knows! It’s gonna be great!  
> https://www.patreon.com/metallover


	4. Chapter 4

The mountain range between Sacae, Lycia and Bern was a dangerous and lawless place. A land where bandits terrorized those villagers too stubborn or poor to leave for the safer lowlands, where no noble held power and no nation was willing to intervene on behalf of those suffering innocents, lest they invite the wrath of their neighboring countries. Still, though, people endured and people thrived. Game hunting and fur trading were the mainstay, and a few privately-owned mines existed closer to Bern, but the majority of the villagers who stubbornly tried to eke out an existence in the mountains had to make do however they could. Which left no surprise, then, that the Bern Mountains were utterly infested with bandits.

There were numerous bandit ‘strongholds’ spread throughout the foreboding crags, in the remains of old border watch forts or the long-abandoned castles and estates of foolish nobles who had sought private refuges in the lawless peaks. Two major groups, often at odds with each other but having recently come to a grudging cease-fire, operated the majority of the territory; extorting the poor villages and desperate travelers mostly, but also raiding the nearby low-lying villages, towns, and occasional nomad tribe foolish enough to approach the mountains. The Ganelon bandits in the south, and the Taliver bandits in the north.

The Ganelon stronghold in the south was in one such fortress, a relic from a time centuries ago when Bern occupied the mountains as forward bases for the forgotten war against the dragons. It was a liveable affair, the building in dire need of proper maintenance, although compared to the living conditions of some of the poorer villages it was practically luxurious.

The sun was high in the sky when three wounded men made their way towards the Ganelon Fortress, the large man standing watch over the gate barely twitching as he noticed them. Wounded men returning to the fortress wasn’t anything new, so the guard barely paid them any attention as they stumbled up the winding mountain path; nor did he move to assist them, because that wasn’t what he was being paid for. He knew these three, recognized them as more of the weak bullies that the Ganelon bandits seemed to attract.

And Dorcas was anything but a bully.

The trio slowed as they reached the shadow of the fortress, relieved sighs coming from the men as they slowed. One actually fell to his knees, the other two leaving him as they limped towards the fortress gates. Even among the bullies, there was no loyalty.

Many young men and women in the mountains are left with little choice but to serve the bandits for a small cut of their ill-gotten takings, just to survive. Men, as warriors and plunderers, the youngest and most inexperienced cruelly being thrust into fighting on the front lines with no training and the most basic of equipment; the young women, though, were almost treasured by the more senior men, for it was the women that took care of their needs.

All of the cooking and cleaning in the more heavily populated forts was left to the women, as well as certain forms of entertainment that made Dorcas’ stomach turn to think about it. Worse, some of the young women actually went to the bandits willingly, to become tools and playthings just for shelter and food.

“Don’t rush to help or nothin’,” one of the bandits sneered as he approached the fort.

“I’m guarding the entrance,” Dorcas said expressionlessly.

“Bah, leave ‘im,” the other bandit grunted. “Damned fool’s stupid as a stump! Let’s find that priest we grabbed and get these holes patched.”

The first man grumbled an affirmative, glaring at Dorcas a moment longer before turning a spitting a wad of bloody phlegm off the side of the path.

He watched them disappear into the comparatively dark interior of the keep before turning to look at the man they had left lying in the road before the entryway. With a small sigh Dorcas shouldered his axe, slowly moving to help the man. As he knelt down by the bandit’s side he looked up, groaning when he saw Dorcas.

“Took ya long enough, idiot,” the bandit slurred, blood running from his nose and the corner of his mouth.

Dorcas didn’t respond. Instead, he hefted the wounded man up by the arm, eliciting a pained hiss from him, before he started to half-carry the bandit back to the fort.

“What’re you doing?” the bandit asked weakly.

“Helping you,” Dorcas replied simply.

“I aint got no… gold to pay ya… with,” the bandit panted in time with his limping.

“Didn’t ask for any,” Dorcas grunted.

They reached the shade of the entryway, the bandit sliding off Dorcas’ shoulder and leaning back against the cool stone wall. The injured man watched the burly mercenary warily before breaking eye contact and coughing weakly, blood flecking his lips with each heaving breath as he leaned back heavily against the wall.

“Ngh, damnation,” the bandit slurred, looking back up.

“Can you get to the priest from here?” Dorcas asked impassively. “I’m watching the gate.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” the bandit said, blinking. “Hey. I aint gonna thank ya, but… ya oughta get outta here while ya can. There’s… ugh… a new group in the mountains. Callin’ ‘emselves ‘Lyn’s Legion’. Don’t take to kindly to bandits, they don’t. Heh…”

“I’ll be fine,” Dorcas said. “I’m a mercenary. Not a bandit.”

“Right, right,” the bandit sighed, limping away and holding himself up on the walls. “Forgot you were an idiot, too. Whatever. Just… do whatever.”

Impassively watching the last of the injured men disappear into the fort, Dorcas felt nothing for the bandits.

It wasn’t something he liked to advertise, but he was far more intelligent than they gave him credit for. He knew, for example, that the man who had given him the warning about this ‘Lyn’s Legion’ would probably die before sundown; he obviously had internal injuries, and the old priest that the bandits had kidnapped from a monastery in the southern mountains wouldn’t be up to the task. He also knew that, come nightfall, the Bandit Chief, Bug, would no doubt already have sent a raiding party led by one of his lieutenants, probably Carjiga, to snuff out this new resistance to their rule. Which meant that all of the mercenaries and all of the recruits would no doubt be pressed into the raid group.

With a small sigh Dorcas bounced his axe a few times on his shoulder, wondering what, exactly, he should do about all this. He needed the gold, sure, but hunting another armed force through the mountains didn’t sound appealing.

Shaking his head, Dorcas reminded himself why he was putting up with the bandits in the first place.

He resumed his position guarding the entrance, putting all else from his mind. For now.

Almost an hour later one of the younger recruits approached with a sneer on his face, bouncing his axe on one shoulder and trying to look tough. It was an act, though, and one Dorcas saw right through. Even the recruits thought they were above the mercenaries that worked with the bandits, and this was one that clearly had yet to be put in his place by one of the less docile mercs.

“They’re calling a meeting,” the youth spat. “I’m s’posed to take over your guard duty.”

Dorcas eyed the youth for a moment before nodding and hefting his own axe, easily twice the size of the youth’s, and moving calmly into the stronghold. Behind him Dorcas heard the youth click his tongue in annoyance. He ignored the boy.

The inside of the Ganelon Keep was a poorly lit mess of trash and debris, most going ignored by the women in charge of ‘upkeep’ simply because it was too heavy for them to move. Empty crates and barrels, sacks of random garbage, even chunks of fallen masonry from the crumbling stone edifice lined the hallways and blocked paths, making the interior a veritable maze. A maze that Dorcas had made a point of memorizing during his first few days of employment.

Stepping through a large hole in one wall, Dorcas came to the main ‘hall’ that Bug held ‘court’ in. The room was packed with unwashed men and cowering slaves, and Dorcas quietly slipped into the back of the crowd, exchanging cursory nods of greeting with a few of the other mercenaries. Seeing the majority of the Ganelon bandits all in one place made Dorcas realize just how they had claimed so much territory from the Taliver. There were close to two hundred men crowded into the space, sitting on railings and even hanging from the hall’s bare rafters. The crowd moved and writhed like a wounded beast, the heat and stink close to unbearable.

At the front of the room Bug, the de facto leader of the Ganelon by dint of his ferociousness in battle, sat on a throne made of plunder. Dorcas had often heard whispered, especially among the mercs, that Bug was only in charge due to his supreme ugliness, though. The man was all squat muscle, his shoulders hunched even when sitting, his head jutting forward. His gap-toothed smile beneath cruel, beady eyes betrayed his pleasure at watching the two men in the space before his throne groveling for their lives.

“Aint got no time for weaklings here,” Bug announced slowly. “We’re the Ganelon! We’re strongest in the Lycian mountains! Stronger’n the Taliver! Stronger’n this Lyn’s Legion!”

The roar that went up from the assembled men was almost deafening in the confined space. Dorcas didn’t join in.

Bug waved his hand and leaned back, another man stepping forward from the crowd. Before either of the groveling bandits, the two wounded men from earlier, Dorcas realized, could react he had brought his axe down in two quick blows, cleaving both men nearly in two and eliciting further cheering and roars.

“These’re our mountains!” Bug snarled from his throne. “We aint lettin’ no nomad tart and a bunch’a women come in and take em away! Carjiga!”

The man who had killed the two wounded bandits raised his bloody axe high.

“Kill the men. Bring the women back,” Bug decreed. “Nomads sell good to the rich folk up north in Bern.”

By way of answer Carjiga, a man who appeared to be one giant slab of muscle and scars, let out a baying roar, answered again by the other bandits.

“We take em in the light!” Carjiga hooted. “We take em when they can see what it is comin’ for em! They’re headin’ west? We check every fort, we sack every village, til we find ‘em!”

There was a loud cry of approval from the assembled men, a few thumping chests and shaking their weapons in the air.

“Right you lot!” Carjiga cried. “Get ready! We’re goin’ hunting!”

“Take the mercs!” Bug added. “Filthy sell-swords oughta earn their keep, yeah!?”

The cheering turned derisive as the mercenaries around Dorcas frowned and rankled at the insult. Not him, though. He bore it in silent stoicness, the way he always did. As the bandits began to plan their assault, which usually involved copious amounts of drinking, fighting and more drinking, Dorcas and a few of the other mercenaries slipped out of the hall. No doubt a few of the smarter ones would be gone by dawn. They probably wouldn’t even be missed.

As he rounded a corner Dorcas stopped, looking down at the body of the third wounded bandit that had come past him earlier, slumped against the wall where he’d fallen. His armor and boots were gone, scavenged by some desperate recruit no doubt, and his eyes stared lifelessly at the wall across from him. Dorcas realized he’d never even learned the man’s name. None of them.

“A bunch of women, huh?” Dorcas muttered, shaking his head. “It would break Natalie's sweet heart to see me sink so low.”

* * *

Night had fallen by the time Lyn and Florina were finally able to extract themselves from the gaggle of thankful villagers and make their way to the spring. Usually Lyn would have been more receptive to their gratitude, but Mark’s words had hurt her deeply. That, and the blood coating her face and chest had long since dried with the dirt from the battle to become a tacky, unpleasant layer of grime that clung to her flesh.

The two girls knelt now by the edge of the spring in their smallclothes, Kent having sworn to stand guard and specifically keep Sain away, both freshly cleaned and running their clothing in the icy flowing water. Lyn glanced over at her friend, marveling again at how the slim Florina had submerged herself in the frigid mountain spring without so much as a shiver. Of course, being from Ilia meant she was used to far worse.

Lyn sighed, rubbing the rocks in her hand against her tunic again and watching as the water around it turned a reddish brown.

“Are you okay?” Florina asked, glancing up.

It was only when they were alone that Florina truly came out of her shell. Even around other women the girl was meek, but when it was just the two of them she spoke and acted far freer with Lyn than she did at any other time. It was something Lyn had been touched to realize, that her friend trusted her so, and usually this thought alone was enough to buoy Lyn’s mood. But not this evening.

The Sacaean gave a heavy sigh, shaking her head in a small shower of water droplets.

“I’m cold, wet and angry,” Lyn admitted freely.

Unconsciously a small smile rose to her face as Florina instantly hopped up, hanging her own tunic over the pole they had set up next to the fire that the villagers had left behind, and grabbing a towel made her way over to Lyn. Without another word Florina began to attack Lyn’s waist-length hair, vigorously drying it while Lyn laughed and struggled not to lose her tunic in the water. Florina let out a giggle of her own, smiling as she worked the last of the moisture out of Lyn’s hair. Her own was almost dry itself, despite being far thicker than Lyn’s own; while Lyn had still been washing her much longer hair Florina had already been drying hers next to the fire.

After a few moments Florina’s smile began to wane and her hands slowed in their ministrations as she reached Lyn’s shoulders.

“You scared me today, Lyn,” she admitted softly.

“They were bandits,” she snapped defensively. “They were less than animals, scavengers!”

Florina leaned around Lyn’s shoulder, fixing her with a rare frown.

“They were people,” she said. “Bad people, yes, but people all the same.”

Lyn shuffled, setting her tunic down on the rocky shore and turning to rest both her hands on Florina’s shoulders.

“Do you have any idea what those ‘bad men’ would have done to you?” she asked, her voice raising a little now.

Florina sighed, taking the other girl’s hands in her own and holding them to her chest.

“Of course I do, Lyn,” she said sadly. “But… I’m just worried about you! After everything that’s happened, watching you lose control like that… Lyn, it was terrifying!”

The younger girl gave a sniffle and Lyn instantly felt a terrible guilt settle in her chest. She gently freed her hands and pulled Florina into an embrace, which she returned almost desperately.

“They told m-me that… the whole Lorca Tribe had been killed,” Florina sobbed. “I thought… I-I’d lost you!”

“You haven’t lost me, Florina,” Lyn said soothingly. “I’m right here.”

“Today, watching you… it felt like I had,” Florina admitted quietly. “My sisters told me stories. About men and women who lost everything, then would throw themselves into battle without a care for their own safety. Looking for death. They said… you could tell. You could tell when someone was going to be like that, because their eyes were… dead. I can’t bear the thought of that happening to you, Lyn!”

“Florina,” she said soothingly.

“I can’t imagine what it’s like for you…” Florina sniffled. “I lost my p-parents, but I still have my sisters. But…”

“It’s alright,” Lyn sighed, rubbing the smaller girl’s back. “I’m sorry I scared you today. But… I can’t promise it won’t happen again.”

Florina went quiet for a moment, then drew back. She sniffled, fixing Lyn with as stalwart an expression as she had ever seen on the delicate mercenary trainee. The image was somewhat ruined by Florina wiping her face with the backs of her hands, though.

“That’s fine!” Florina declared. “If you’re going to fight, I’ll just have to be right there by your side to make sure you’re safe! If death wants you, it’ll have to go through me!”

Lyn smiled a little, pulling Florina back into another embrace. The pegasus knight sniffled, returning Lyn’s hug again and reminding Lyn that she wasn’t alone anymore.

“I know, Florina,” she said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Florina said.

The Pegasus Knight pulled back, smiling radiantly up at the taller Sacaean girl even as she wiped the last of the tears from her eyes with the back of one hand.

“Now let me finish brushing your hair,” she added.

“What is it with you and my hair?” Lyn laughed.

Florina stepped back, smiling bashfully now as she retrieved a brush.

“It’s so different to my frizzy mess,” Florina explained. “It’s so straight and perfect! And if you’d take better care of it, it would be soft and silky, too!”

“Florina, I am not your pegasus!” Lyn laughed louder.

“Hold still and I’ll give you a sugar cube afterwards!”

“Florina, stop!” Lyn practically cackled.

The two girls broke down into a fit of giggles, Florina practically draped across Lyn’s shoulders as they waited for their laughter to subside. Once they had caught their breath Lyn reached up, gently resting her hand on the arm Florina still had wrapped around her collar.

“Thank you, Florina,” she said softly.

“Of course, Lyn,” Florina said, nuzzling closer to her friend and turning her draping into an impromptu hug. “I’ll always be there when you need me.”

* * *

Letting out a long sigh Mark rose and stretched his back, linking his fingers and pushing his hands up above his head with a satisfied groan. At his feet was a new pack which would be carried by Wil, full now of an equal load with Mark’s own. Non-perishable food, cooking and camping supplies, as well as the archer’s own meagre belongings. Across from him the other young man squatted down, looking closely at the bag.

“You expect me to carry this?” he asked flatly.

“Think of it like training,” Mark said dismissively. “Good for the shoulders.”

“I will die,” Wil said flatly. “Carrying this will kill me.”

“I carried twice that for nearly two weeks,” Mark pointed out.

“We have two horses!” Wil said.

“No, don’t-” Mark started, his words fading into a groan as Sain cut in.

“Excuse you!?” Sain cried with a frown. “My warhorse is not a common pack mule! We’ve been over this, Mark! I will not-”

“I know, I know! Stop talking!” Mark groaned, letting his head fall back in exasperation.

Both of the Lycian knights approached from behind, Sain wearing a very put out expression as Kent remained neutral. Mark noted that both men were also leading their horses by the reins, giving the beasts a chance to rest after the day’s fighting.

“Sain, enough,” Kent said, his tone brokering no argument. “Please take our new recruit and see to our lodgings. If the villagers have no room to spare see if we can at least resupply before we move on.”

“Right, right,” Sain sighed. “Come on, newbie. Let’s see if we can find a roof for the evening, and perhaps even a new bow to replace that piece of junk.”

“Hey, I like my bow!” Wil objected weakly.

Despite his protests the archer glanced at Mark, who gave him a small nod. With a sigh of his own Wil moved to follow Sain back towards the village. Of course, Sain being Sain, Mark managed to just catch the knight asking “So are there any lovely ladies in this village?” before Kent took up his attention again.

“I need to speak to you of Lady Lyndis,” the flame-haired knight said bluntly.

“I’m not apologizing for standing up to her, nobility or no,” Mark warned.

Kent nodded, glancing over his shoulder to ensure they were truly alone before continuing.

“And I thank you for doing what my oaths prevented,” the knight said in a low voice. “Lady Lyndis today, she… I have not known her long, but I know that she was not herself. Has this happened before Sain and I joined you?”

Mark ran a hand through his hair, sinking back to a hip.

“Yes,” he admitted. “Lyn’s lost her cool every single time we’ve engaged bandits so far, and I’m not willing to chance her doing this against actual soldiers. She’ll end up getting herself killed, and then we’re all out of a job.”

Kent scoffed, his face set in a frown.

“Indeed,” the knight agreed, pausing a moment before continuing. “I worry for her, but I do not know how to approach this issue. I would not see her place herself unduly in harm’s way.”

“If you honestly want to get between her and a fight, you do that,” Mark said with a small grin. “I’ll talk to her once she’s had time to calm down. See if I can’t get her to see reason. See if… I can quell this bloodlust a little. I’ll try to get Florina to help. Hopefully between all of us we can stop this happening again.”

Kent nodded, sighing as he sagged with relief. Behind him his horse whinnied, as if sensing the change in its master, and he turned to stroke its muzzle.

“What happened to her has obviously left its scars,” the knight said softly. “I can scarcely imagine what she has endured, and at such a young age…”

“She’ll recover,” Mark said confidently. “She’s a lot stronger than we give her credit for. We just need to figure out how to channel her rage a little more constructively.”

Mark crossed his arms, muttering to himself as he lost himself in thought. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t prepared for soldiers’ bloodlust on the field, but he had studied situations where a soldier’s herd mentality would help keep him with his squad. With Lyn, all she really had was Mark, the two knights and now Florina and Wil. Hardly a squad, especially because Kent and Sain would constantly be fighting flanking maneuvers for them, Wil as a rule would be as far from the front lines as he could be while still being useful, Florina was a ‘squishy’ and would be confined to hit-and-run strikes, and Mark was a non-combatant. Lyn was effectively alone on the field.

Kent sighed again as he watched this, the taller man fidgeting uncomfortably as Mark mumbled to himself, cupping his chin in thought as he studied the ground.

“I… do not like speaking of the Lady behind her back like this,” the knight admitted after a moment.

Mark waved a hand dismissively, looking back up.

“It’s fine, I think I have a short-term solution,” he said flippantly. “Long term may take a little longer to hammer out, but I think we can make this work. Now, let’s go find the girls and see if Sain and Wil found somewhere for us to stay. Wanna take one of the bags?”

“You are not putting those bags on my horse,” Kent warned.

“I said ‘you’,” Mark said, exaggeratedly rolling his eyes. “You’re not riding it, right? Then carry one of the damned bags for five minutes!”

* * *

The next few days passed for Mark in much the same fashion as the ones before they had stumbled across the little village had; as a blur of fatigue-ridden walking. Granted, he now had an annoyingly talkative pack-mule in the form of Wil to share the load with, but Mark wasn’t feeling much like talking lately.

Lyn, while not ignoring him, had been acting significantly cooler towards him in the days since their ‘disagreement’ over the wounded bandits. The Sacaean girl had been spending all her time with Florina for the last few days, and while Mark reasonably told himself that they were old friends and had a lot of catching up to do it still stung a little. He couldn’t help but feel like he was being ignored, or that Lyn was still mad at him even though she insisted that she wasn’t.

As they walked Lyn made a disapproving sound, squinting up at the rapidly darkening sky as she crossed her arms. Once more they had been marching all day, and while Mark was eager for a break it appeared that Lyn felt otherwise.

“Bah, dark again already,” she complained.

“Days are shorter in the mountains,” Wil supplied helpfully. “You get used to it.”

“Alright, if even Lyn can’t see the road anymore then I’m officially calling a halt,” Mark piped up. “Let’s find some shelter.”

“Can we not just continue on through the night?” Lyn asked.

It was the same question she had asked every evening when Mark called a halt to their journey, and like every evening before that he gave the same answer.

“Lyn, we can’t see in the dark and we can’t use torches,” he sighed. “There’s very likely a horde of angry bandits chasing us now, and I’d prefer not to have them know where we are.”

“Seconded!” Wil added unhelpfully.

“I know, I know,” Lyn sighed, frowning. “Better us than the villagers, though.”

Mark nodded, silently agreeing with her. Fortunately, Mark sensed no malice in her tone; only genuine worry for the villagers in the bandits’ path.

“Well, if it’s shelter we’re after I think there’s an old fort not far from here,” Wil suggested. “I slept in it a few times when I was roughing it. It’s not pretty, but it’s got a roof.”

“Good enough, lead the way,” Mark said. “Oh, and remember, if this is a trap-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Wil groaned, rolling his eyes. “With the betrayal and the stabbing and junk. I heard you the first thirty times.”

“Lay off the guy, Mark,” Sain laughed from atop his mount. “He’s alright.”

“Not that I don’t like you, Wil,” Mark said with a raised eyebrow. “I just don’t trust you given the circumstances. But if this fort is on the up-and-up it’ll go a long way to getting me there.”

“Right-o, then, boss-man!” Wil said. “Everyone follow me!”

“What about me?” Sain asked with a wide grin. “Does that mean you like me, too?”

“No,” Mark deadpanned.

The strategist answered without hesitation, earning a few snickers from Wil, Florina and even Lyn at the knight’s over-exaggerated disappointment. Wil took the lead, directing the small group off the main road and onto the gentle forested slope beside it. After a few moments Mark could make out the remains of an old road as they slowly threaded their way through the trees, even in the dying light. The trees themselves were more of the short, hardy mountain shrubbery he was getting used to seeing clumped around a few sparse evergreens, easily three times his own height.

After walking for only a few minutes Wil let out a small exclamation, hurrying ahead a little.

“There it is! You can see it through the trees!”

With a low groan Mark realized he could, in fact, see the old fort through the trees. Although calling the dilapidated pile of stone a ‘fort’ was generous. What once might have been a second floor rose up above the main building, rotting joists and beams giving the illusion of giant ribs in the twilight to Mark’s over-active imagination. The lower floor itself wasn’t much better, large holes in the walls where stone and masonry had crumbled dotting the vine and lichen covered walls. A small tree had sprouted up from one side of the building, its roots entwined with the stonework and pushing the blocks out at an odd angle; a potential weak spot, Mark noted. However, for all its flaws the strategist could see that enough of the upper floor remained to keep the morning dew off them, and the walls would probably stop the worst of the chill.

Wil stopped just before the fort, spreading his hands wide with an expectant grin.

“Well? What do you think? Cozy, right?” he asked with a laugh.

“Oh sure,” Mark scoffed. “We’ll put some flowers in a vase and it’ll be downright homey.”

“We are really going to sleep in this mildewy old fortress?” Sain asked, aghast. “Is this the best we can do? Come, Wil! Surely you jest!”

“The bandits keep everything in turmoil around here,” the young archer shrugged. “No one has the time to worry about travelers. And there are rather a lot of us.”

“There’s six of us,” Mark said.

“And two horses and a pegasus,” Wil corrected. “Which is a pretty large group to most villages around here.”

Mark opened his mouth to rebut and thought better of it, giving a small shrug. “Alright, point.”

“It will do,” Lyn said with a small grin. “Thank you, Wil.

“My pleasure, milady,” Wil laughed, giving an overexaggerated bow.

“Don’t you start, too,” Lyn laughed. “Besides, who wants to be stuck inside, anyway? I prefer a place where I can feel the wind blow.”

“Oh, no worry about that,” Sain grumbled, earning a scowl from Kent.

“Florina? Objections?” Mark asked over his shoulder.

The young pegasus knight jumped a little, automatically drawing close to the comforting presence of her mount. This was something Mark had been trying to do as much as possible to get her used to being around men, and trying to encourage her to be slightly more proactive; asking her opinion, especially when the more vocal members of their group were speaking.

“As long as I'm at Lyn's side, I'll be fine,” Florina said softly, not making eye contact.

Sain grinned, leaning in his saddle closer to Florina.

“And for your protection, your man-at-arms Sain will be right here by your side, ladies,” he said, shooting his best winning smile at Lyn.

“Down, boy,” Mark deadpanned, earning a chuckle from Lyn and Wil.

“Sain, both you and I are to remain awake,” Kent cut in, urging his mount towards the fort. “We will alternate the watch. Come, we need to find somewhere to tie off the horses. Miss Florina, do you need to secure your own mount?”

“N-no!” Florina squeaked, before taking a deep breath. “I… I mean, no, Huey’s a good boy. He… d-doesn’t wander…”

“Very well,” Kent nodded. “Sain! Come.”

“Ah, alas,” Sain sighed, smirking one last time at Florina before turning a frown on Kent. “And why is everyone talking to me like I’m a dog lately?”

“C’mon, Lyn! Mark!” Wil urged with a laugh. “Let’s get a fire going!”

“I would usually caution against lighting a fire of any kind indoors, but I don’t think this fort really fits that description anymore,” Mark muttered, coming alongside Lyn.

Lyn grinned next to him, a small flush of warm relief passing through the strategist at the sight.

The pair followed Wil inside as the archer waited inside the shadowed entryway for them. Mark was glad to find the interior fairly dry, automatically spotting a few decent places to sleep where he would be out of the wind or any freak rainstorms. Lyn looked around, doing much the same with a critical eye, Florina meekly approaching behind them.

“Well? Where should we put the fire?” Wil asked with a smirk.

“Um… your pardon, sirs and madam…”

Wil and Florina both let out matching shrieks as Mark and Lyn surged forward, both of their hands already on sword hilts.

“Who’s there!?” Lyn demanded, crouching low in an aggressive stance.

Holding up his hand to forestall her Mark edged forward, releasing his grip on his sword. A young woman, perhaps a few years older than him, came into the low light cast from the setting sun. She was pretty, in a plain sort of way, her long hair tied back from her face in a functional ponytail and her well-worn clothes speaking of a life of work in a village somewhere. He noticed she moved with a very pronounced limp, leaning heavily against the nearest wall as she approached.

“Florina, Wil, get a fire going,” he said, without taking his eyes off her. “Lyn, stand down. I don’t think she could hurt us if she wanted to.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” the woman said taking a few lop-sided steps away from the wall and towards them. “Forgive my intrusion... My name's Natalie. I'm from a village not far from here... Ah!”

Whatever else she was going to say was lost when she stumbled and hissed in pain, teetering dangerously until Mark darted out and caught her.

“Are you alright? Are you wounded?” Lyn asked, suddenly at his side.

“It's fine. Don't worry,” Natalie waved them off.

The woman used Mark’s shoulder to regain her balance, offering the two travelers a small, sheepish smile.

“It's from a childhood sickness,” she explained. “I can't travel far on it, but it doesn't trouble me much.”

“What are you doing out here?” Mark asked.

“Oh sure, I jump out at you and it’s all ‘stab you, stab you’!” Wil grumped loudly from outside. “A pretty girl does the same thing and you’re rushing to help her!”

“She doesn’t have a weapon and complains a lot less!” Mark shot back with a wry grin. “Now get that fire started or I’ll stab you!”

“I hate you!” Wil groaned. “Florina? I hate him.”

The young pegasus knight made an unintelligible squeak, prompting another sigh from Wil and laughter from Mark and Lyn. Natalie smiled too, moving back towards the wall. Lyn offered her shoulder as support, which the woman gratefully took.

“Thank you,” Natalie said. “And… I’m actually looking for someone. My husband.”

Mark smirked, confident he could hear Sain cursing from outside. Natalie went on unperturbed, though.

“I heard he was in this area. He said he was going to raise money to have my leg mended. He left the village and hasn't returned. He's a kindhearted man… but I think he might be involved in something dangerous. I got so worried... Here's a sketch of him. It's a poor likeness at best, but... His name is Dorcas. Do you know of him?”

“Nice picture. Can’t say I do, though,” Mark said. “Lyn?”

“It is not a familiar name to me,” she shook her head. “Perhaps Wil has heard something?”

“I heard you, and no! Sorry!” Wil called from outside.

“It’s okay,” Natalie said with another smile. “If you do meet him, please give him a message. Tell him Natalie is looking for him.”

“Of course,” Lyn smiled back. “But you can’t possibly intend to continue to search tonight?”

“I will be fine,” Natalie assured her. “I was born and raised in these mountains. I know my way around.”

“With a lame leg? In the dark?” Mark asked incredulously. “And you know it’s a dead moon tonight, right? So, very dark-dark?”

Natalie shifted a little uncomfortably.

“I cannot… ask for any more aid,” she said after a moment.

“Then I offer it freely,” Lyn said, her smile almost blinding Mark. “Stay with us this evening, and in the morning we will see you back to your village.”

“I could not-” Natalie started.

Mark cut her off with a sigh, turning away and resting his hands behind his head as he ambled back in the direction they had come in from.

“Don’t bother, there’s no arguing with her when she gets like this,” he said over his shoulder. “You two get comfy, I’m going to go scout around. Save me some dinner.”

“Th-thank you,” Natalie said softly, looking down.

Mark just smirked a little over his shoulder, shaking his head at Lyn’s selflessness. He should be getting used to this by now. The sound of chatter from the others eventually faded as Mark slipped into the trees. Even if they did have a roof over their heads, he still wanted to take a look around the area. Just in case.

* * *

The sun was far lower in the sky by the time Mark stumbled back into the fort, panting and out of breath as he leaned on the closest wall for support, his eyes wide and wild. The others looked up at his abrupt entrance from where they were arranged around a small cooking fire on one of the remaining flat sections of the fort’s stone floor.

“Put out the fire! Quickly!” the strategist hissed.

To the knights’ credit, Kent and Sain moved instantly to extinguish the small fire, dumping water on it and stomping the embers as Wil groaned about how long it had taken him to start it in the first place. Lyn, too, was up in an instant, Florina only a step behind her as the taller girl moved to Mark’s side. He shushed them all, quirking his head and trying to listen.

Voices. Lights in the trees.

“I was hoping I’d lost them,” he sighed.

“Mark, what’s going on?” Lyn asked quietly.

“Remember those bandits that could possibly have been following us?” he asked rhetorically. “Well, turns out they were, and they were very happy to see me. Which made me very nervous. I suggest we ready our weapons.”

“Did you lead them back here?” Sain asked disapprovingly.

“No!” Mark snapped. “The forest is full of them, they would’ve stumbled on us sooner or later anyway.”

“I’d rather it this way,” Kent said stoically. “We can still see in the twilight, and we know they’re coming. We couldn’t ask for better odds of escape.”

“We cannot leave,” Lyn announced, her voice soft but determined.

Mark let out a wordless growl of frustration, spinning on his friend and giving in to the adrenaline still flooding his system from his narrow escape from the bandit scouts.

“Lyn, I get that you want all bandits dead but now is not the time for one of your little meltdowns!” he said hotly.

“Natalie cannot escape,” Lyn said simply, frowning. “I will not leave her.”

Mark opened and closed his mouth a few times, his cheeks blushing scarlet as he pulled himself upright and nodded.

“Right. Good point,” he admitted. “Um. Sorry?”

Lyn smirked, a dangerous glint in her eye.

“Do you have a plan?” she asked.

The strategist looked around at the ruined fort before nodding.

“I can. Uh… Yes, I do,” he said. “Natalie, stay in the back room until either myself or Lyn comes to get you, please. No matter what. Wil? Up top. We’ll keep them busy enough down here that they won’t bug you.”

“Aye-aye, boss-man,” Wil said with a grin. “Someone give me a boost?”

Sain stepped forward, the cavalier linking his fingers without hesitation, stepping back and squatting a little to help Wil into the rafters. The archer was up and hidden so fast that Mark had to wonder just what the other man had been doing in these mountains, but decided to leave it for later.

“Kent, Sain, you have the entrance,” he went on. “Bring your horses inside, put them in the back room with Natalie. Florina, your pegasus, too. We can’t leave them outside for the bandits, and we need to hold this fort.”

“Right away,” Kent said, already rushing outside as he spoke.

“R-right!” Florina squeaked, following the knight.

“And us?” Lyn asked.

“The east side has a big hole in it,” Mark said. “It’s too small for many men to come in at once, so we can use it as a bottleneck and funnel them towards us. Well, okay, towards you. I’m just coming to make sure nothing gets past you.”

The pair started making for the hole Mark had mentioned, easily identifiable from the shafts of brilliant orange sun cutting through the fort’s dim interior. They continued talking as they moved, Mark taking care not to trip over any debris while Lyn seemed as sure-footed as she ever was despite the gloom.

“Have you ever seen anything get past me?” Lyn asked with a scoff.

“Well, no, but do you really want me to not be there to watch your back if something does?” Mark shrugged.

Lyn paused for the briefest of moments, glancing back at Mark with a soft smile on her face.

“Of course not,” she said. “And… I’m sorry.”

“For what? I should be the one apologizing,” Mark said, a confused tilt to his head. “I mean, I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions about why you wanted to stay and fight.”

Lyn paused again, stopping just before the light filtering through the gap in the wall. Her face was hidden by the shadows, but Mark swore he could see an embarrassed look cross her face.

“Mark, I know… I have problems with… my anger,” she said slowly. “I don’t want it to come between us.”

“Lyn, after what you went through I’m surprised that bandits are the only thing you direct your anger at,” Mark sighed. “I wanted to have this conversation eventually, but the timing’s not exactly…”

“Yeah, your timing needs work. This is kinda not the time. You two gonna block the gap or make out?”

Lyn and Mark both looked up, matching blushes coloring their cheeks. Wil grinned down at them, bow in hand and leaning against one of the bare rafters above them.

“Bad guys moving in the trees,” he added with a laugh. “We probably don’t have long now.”

“Then get into position!” Mark snapped, stomping over to the gap.

Wil’s laughter echoed through the ruined fort as the archer nimbly pulled himself up through a hole in the ceiling and onto the roof, leaving Mark to fume as Lyn took a deep breath behind him.

“Mark, we will finish this conversation later,” she said with another grin. “Until then, I trust you to watch my back.”

“Always,” he said with a smirk.

Mark gave a low groan as exaggerated kissing noises rained down from the roof, Lyn actually chuckling this time as she shook her head.

“Will you get into position already!?” Mark called up to Wil. “I hope you fall off the damn roof when we’re done!”

“Uh-um… Mark?”

“What!?” the strategist snapped.

He spun, coming face to face with Florina mid-flinch as she tried to hide behind her lance. Her eyes instantly became misty and she took a step back, a pang of guilt shooting through Mark’s chest. The only thing he could liken her expression to was a puppy that had just been kicked. He sighed, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly as he tried to ignore Wil’s laughter and Lyn’s no doubt disapproving look.

“Sorry, Florina, what’s wrong?” he asked, much more gently this time.

“Th-th-the… horses and… Huey are secure,” she said slowly, not meeting his eyes. “Where… uh, that is, what do… where do I…”

“Your position?” Mark supplied.

Florina nodded, still not meeting his eyes.

“Can you fight on foot?” he asked.

“Yes!” Florina said quickly. “I… we trained, Lyn and I, together with her tribe!”

“Good,” Mark nodded. “Then I want you to be backup. Stay near the knights, keep an eye on Natalie, and if I call come running over here. Okay?”

Florina nodded again, scurrying away so fast it sent another pang of guilt through the strategist’s chest.

“Well, great, now she hates me,” he sighed, taking up position next to Lyn.

The swordswoman just smirked, her eyes not leaving the movement in the trees.

“She takes a while to warm up to strangers,” Lyn said absently. “You should have seen how long it took her to get used to the men of my tribe.”

“I can imagine,” Mark smirked. “Are you good?”

“Of course,” Lyn said confidently.

“Kent? Sain? All set?” Mark called over to the knights.

“None shall pass!” Kent declared.

“For the sake of the fair maiden Natalie, I shall lay down my life if I must!” Said added, unnecessarily.

“He does remember she’s married, right?” Mark muttered to himself.

* * *

The waiting before a battle, Mark was quickly learning, was the hardest part. For some reason the bandits didn’t seem to be in too much of a hurry, taking their time as the sun sank lower and lower. Hubris, or arrogance perhaps, Mark reasoned. They had already blown their chances of launching a surprise attack by giving their position away. Surely they weren’t so stupid as to think that the travelers hadn’t spotted them with all the noise the bandits had been making? Instead they moved about in the trees, offering the strategist brief glimpses of men and weapons in the dying light as they positioned themselves.

“Oh, this is getting ridiculous,” Mark growled. “Surely they have us surrounded by now?”

Lyn remained silent, still standing to one side of the hole in the wall where she had been for almost an hour now.

The sun would go down soon, taking away much of the bandits’ advantage. Lyn’s group already had a source of light, in the shape of the little fire Florina had taken to tending to calm her nerves. The bandits would need torches, which would give their positions away.

Seriously beginning to contemplate calling out and telling the attackers to get a move on, Mark was almost relieved when a roar went up from the forest and the first wave of bandits rushed out into the sunlight.

“Finally,” Lyn breathed, stepping properly into the gap in the wall.

Mark found himself sharing the sentiment as he watched the bandits charge.

The majority of them moved directly for the entryway, six men crowding Kent and Sain at once. The two knights used the superior reach of their lances to great effect, though, holding the bandit charge back and stopping their momentum dead. Florina pitched in, too, her thin lance flashing around the two knights’ shoulders as she struck wherever she could find an opening.

From above came the steady twang of Wil’s new bow, arrows sailing down into the press of men following the initial charge that had crowded the knights. His shots were true, although far less effective than Mark would have liked. He would have to talk to the archer about working on his aim when they finished here.

A much smaller group crept out of the trees before Lyn and Mark, the large axeman in front striking an odd chord in Mark’s brain. It was as if he’d met the man before…

“Does he look familiar to you, too?” the strategist asked, drawing his rapier.

“What?” Lyn asked, not even bothering to look at him.

“The bandit in the lead there,” Mark insisted. “Have we… met him before?”

Lyn’s gaze moved to focus solely on the bandit for a moment before her eyes widened.

“Natalie’s drawing!” she whispered.

“That’s her husband?” Mark asked incredulously. “She’s married to a bandit?”

“It doesn’t…” Lyn started, trailing off and looking over her shoulder. “I mean, we must… I…”

Mark watched her obvious confliction before shrugging and stepping past her.

“Hey! Dorcas! Got your wife Natalie in the back room! You sure you’re on the right side, there!?” he called.

Lyn spun on him, her jaw dropping at the sheer audacity of Mark’s plan. The bandit stopped, his brow furrowing. The four men behind him stopped, too, clearly entertained by this turn of events.

“How do you know our names?” Dorcas asked.

“Natalie told us!” Mark said with a sunny smile. “Showed us a picture of you! She’s quite the artist!”

“If you’ve hurt her-” the big man growled, stomping forward a few steps.

“We’re trying to save her!” Lyn snapped.

This brought Dorcas up short, the men behind him, watching the conversation with great amusement now as they laughed about how ‘the big idiot’ would just have to die to protect his girl.

“I’d like to see her,” he rumbled after a few moments.

The other bandits instantly froze, turning at the sudden proclamation.

“Hey, meat!” one of them sneered. “You walk out on us now and-”

Dorcas didn’t even turn, casually hefting his axe and swinging it backwards into the other man’s chest. He gave a shriek that trailed off into a wet gurgle, Dorcas slowly advancing on the two young travelers as the other bandits looked on in shock.

“You have my wife,” Dorcas repeated. “I would like to see her.”

Mark nodded, grinning now. “Hey Lyn, do you think you can handle the rest?”

The swordswoman scoffed, stepping past the two men.

“Three bandits? Child’s play,” she said confidently.

“Just remember we’re here to keep them out, okay?” Mark reminded her, turning back to the other man. “Alright, Dorcas, come this way and keep your axe lowered. Natalie’s fine, I promise.”

The turncoat bandit nodded, lowering his weapon and following Mark into the fort. As they moved into the shadowed recesses he heard Lyn scream a Sacaean oath, the sound of her vengeful fighting ringing clearly throughout.

“Gods she scares me sometimes,” he sighed.

Dorcas gave a small snort, the two men coming into the small back room where Kent and Florina had managed to squeeze their mounts in. The young woman perched on a fallen block of stone near the back of the room looked up, her eyes widening as she saw them.

“Dorcas!” she cried, a smile lighting up her face. “I found you! What are you doing here?”

“I… um…” the big man stammered.

Mark stepped up quickly, flashing her his practiced ‘negotiating’ grin.

“He’s helping us drive the bandits off,” Mark told her smoothly. “Right, big guy?”

“Er… right,” Dorcas nodded. “I will protect you, Natalie.”

She looked back and forth between them for a moment before nodding, her smile dimming somewhat as she sat back again.

“Be careful,” she said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Dorcas said, without a moment of hesitation.

Mark pulled the bigger man aside, leaning closer to him.

“Okay, here’s the plan-” Mark started to say, before Dorcas cut him off.

“There is a third squad moving around the west side of the fort,” the big man said. “There is a damaged wall. Carjiga plans to break through it.”

Mark cursed, running a hand through his hair and cursing again.

“Alright, change of plans. You’re going to back Lyn up,” he whispered quickly. “We can sort through all of this later. For now, I hold you personally responsible for her life. If anything happens to her-”

“You gave shelter to my Natalie,” Dorcas cut him off. “You protected her. I will protect your Lyn.”

Mark gaped a moment before blushing and nodding.

“Right. Good. Though she and I aren’t… uh, whatever, we can sort it out later,” he muttered, before shouting, “Lyn! Dorcas is your backup!”

“I don’t need backup, I’m done!” she called back.

“Humor me!” Mark deadpanned, turning to Dorcas before adding, “keep her safe. And don’t let her run off! She’s got a temper.”

The big man nodded, silently turning to join Lyn. Mark turned away, too, moving to where Kent and Sain were panting, leaning against the stone entrance during a lull in the fighting. Florina was close behind, offering them waterskins from as far away as her arms would reach.

“We good out here?” Mark asked.

“Splendid,” Sain drawled, rolling his eyes.

“Keep it up, they’ll break soon,” Mark assured them. “Florina, I’ll need you with me when-”

“Incoming!” Wil shouted from above.

The young archer’s head appeared in one of the many holes in the ceiling, his eyes wide and his face covered in sweat.

“Men from all sides, I can’t get a decent count!” he warned. “All I can tell is I do not have that many arrows!”

“Then learn to shoot better!” Mark shot back.

Whatever Wil was going to say was lost in the warcries of the resumed assault on the front gates, Mark hissing out another curse as the two Lycian knights stepped back into line. Another crowd of bandits rushed towards the fort’s gates, baying like animals as they ran with their axes held above their heads. Sain rolled out his neck while Kent adjusted the strap on one side of his thick breastplate.

“We have this!” the knight assured him.

“Florina, come on!” Mark urged. “They’re coming from the west, and if they break in I can’t stop them alone.”

The pegasus knight paled, but only hesitated a moment before nodding and gripping her lance tightly.

“Right!” she said.

Mark raced through the small fort, looking desperately for a section of wall that could be easily broken through from the outside. He didn’t have to look hard, a heavy blow from without shaking loose a number of loose stones not far from where he and Florina skidded to a stop. Mark yanked his thin rapier out as more blows rained down from outside, the wall starting to give.

“Wil, cover us!” the strategist called.

He began to feel a fluttering apprehension in his stomach as more stones were broken loose from the wall, beams of sunlight starting to break through and light up the gloom.

“Soon as you get a gap big enough start stabbing,” Mark told Florina. “We can’t let them break this wall down.”

She nodded, lips pursed tight as she kneaded the grip of her lance.

A few more blows rained down, holes becoming large enough for Mark to make out shapes on the other side. There was a brief moment of reprieve as Wil began to cover them, but judging from the shouting and the increased pace of the strikes to the wall the archer was having the opposite effect that Mark had been going for.

A shadow passed before one of the holes, and Mark sprung forward, rapier-first.

“Now!” he snarled, stabbing through.

Florina was at his side in an instant, her form commendable as she began lunging through the broken wall. Men shouted in alarm on the other side, Florina’s longer weapon even earning a few screams of pain, but otherwise their counterattack had been ineffective. Mark dared to move closer to one of the holes, trying to see what the enemy’s position was.

Stone and dust flew as a massive hand crashed through the brutalized section of wall, wrapping around Mark’s shoulder and actually pulling him through the remaining stonework. As he was hauled through the wall the strategist felt every broken stone grind against his flesh and bones, all the air forced from his lungs by the impact. It was all he could do to hold on to his sword and not pass out.

A cruel, slab-faced man held the strategist up for a moment before laughing and tossing him aside, Mark landing hard on his shoulder with a winded yelp. The yelp turned into a short cough when the big bandit leader stomped down on his chest, waves of pain radiating outwards.

“Really!?” Mark wheezed indignantly, rolling onto his side.

The bandit laughed, turning away and clearly dismissing the wounded strategist, leaving him for the lackeys as he spotted a terrified Florina.

“Hello, girly,” the mountain of a bandit slurred, licking his lips.

The pegasus knight gave a terrified squeak and drew back, her lance shaking in time with her hands. Mark realized he was surrounded by bandits outside, at least six men all holding back as the obvious leader got first rights, but he hadn’t fallen far from the hole. Head spinning from the fall, Mark rose up on his knees and scurried forward, dignity forgotten as he jammed his rapier into the back of the big bandit’s thigh.

With a pained roar the man spun on Mark, the rapier coming free of his leg from the movement. He kicked the strategist with such force Mark actually left the ground, tumbling into the onlooking bandits as his sword slipped from his fingers.

“Kill you!” the big bandit snarled.

Mark groaned as he was jostled and hit by the men he’d landed on, barely even aware as the big bandit loomed over him. He was so far gone that it took him a moment to process the pained shout that the bandit leader gave as Florina, tears in her eyes, jammed her lance in his side.

“Get away from him!” she shrieked.

Mark grinned a little, feeling something grind in his chest as he took a deep breath and began fumbling around for his sword. His fingers wrapped around something resembling a hilt and handle, and with the last of his strength Mark surged up, stabbing almost blind. The weapon, one of the fallen bandits’ beaten old swords, slipped under the leader’s armor thanks to Mark’s low angle, impaling him deeply in the stomach. The big man gasped, a confused expression on his face lasting only a second until an arrow pierced his throat. Another hit him in the back, the bandit leader falling down on his face and almost crushing Mark in the process.

There was a moment of silence, the remaining bandits drawing back slightly as they struggled to come to a decision about what to do next.

“Carjiga is dead!” Dorcas shouted, appearing in the broken wall now. “Retreat! Carjiga is dead!”

With that the bandits scattered back into the trees, the last of the sun’s light giving way to twilight as it sank beneath the mountains. Mark leaned back, relaxing now and giving a pained cough. Something had broken when he’d gone through the wall.

“Ow,” he managed to groan.

“I’ll… I’ll get a vulnerary!” Florina said quickly, edging around Dorcas before racing back into the fort.

“Hey! You still alive?” Wil called from the roof’s edge.

Mark responded by grinning and painfully lifting his hand, giving the archer a rude two-fingered salute. Wil just laughed and shook his head.

“You’re welcome! Now stop bitching about my shooting!” he said, disappearing back onto the roof.

Mark gave a small, wheezing laugh, stopping with another groan when it caused more pain to shoot through his chest.

“I will be with Natalie,” Dorcas said, disappearing back inside.

“That’s fine,” Mark wheezed. “I’ll just… lay here in… in the dirt… ow…”

“Mark!”

The strategist winced at the volume of Lyn’s cry, the Sacaean girl sprinting out of the fort and skidding to her knees next to him.

“Are you hurt!? You’re hurt! Florina, bring a vulnerary! By Mother Earth and Father Sky, Mark, what were you thinking!?”

“Oh, wow he’s really big,” the strategist chuckled with a pained grin.

Lyn gave a small growl, punching her fist into the dirt at her side.

“Don’t joke about this!” she said, her voice rising. “Do you know how worried I was!?”

She drew back, looking away with a pained expression.

“Who would watch my back if… something was to happen to you?”

Mark sighed out his nose, trying to prop himself up on his elbows and giving up almost immediately with a pained hiss. Instead he just lay there, looking up at the darkening sky for a moment before he spoke again.

“What you’re feeling… right now,” he said slowly. “Is what I feel… every time you… lose control.”

Lyn recoiled as if he’d struck her, eyes widening as she spun back to look at him. She watched the prone strategist for a moment before her lip began to quiver.

“I’m so sorry, Mark,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “I’m so sorry…”

“It’s fine,” the strategist said with a smirk. “Just remember that… you make a… better meat shield… when you’re at my side. Ugh. Can’t… can’t believe he… stomped on me…”

Lyn nodded and gave a small laugh before sniffing and gracing him with a small, grateful smile as Florina reappeared with their meagre medical supplies. Wil reappeared, too, leaning over the crumbling edge of the fort’s roof.

“So… can I come down now?” he called.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Extra long chapter this time. Because I could not find a place to split it. I’m bad at that. But yes, more new friends, and I hope I did Dorcas justice. And no cliffhanger this time. Because I know I’ve been doing them a lot. Next chapter: everyone’s favorite cleric and mage duo! Yay!   
> Follow me on twitter! -metalloverCAB  
> Please consider supporting me on (P)atreon! For just five bucks a month you get early access to chapters and two chapters of an exclusive Self Insert short (complete with original artwork in every chapter)! Ten bucks gets you all that and access to the audiobook/podification of whatever story I’m doing at the time!   
> And don’t forget the Invisible Ties Audio Drama! I’m the voice of Robin, check us out on YouTube!  
> Check it all out! Links are on my bio page!


	5. Chapter 5

Mark sat in the shade of a small house on a small crate, hunched forward with elbows resting on his knees as he watched the activity in the small village. Despite being in an area so heavily contested by bandit groups, one would never be able to tell with the way that the villagers carried out their daily chores. Life went on, as his grandfather had always said, even during civil unrest or times of war. The young strategist’s fingers itched to hold his quill and make notes of the things he saw, but he was beginning to run low on space in the journal he had bought, not to mention his ink supplies. Until he found someplace to buy a new one, he’d have to be careful about what he wrote down.

After their fight with the bandits, Dorcas had led Lyn’s Legion to the small village that he and Natalie called home. The large fighter had also carried his wife the entire way, a feat of quite impressive strength to Mark’s mind.

Now it was mid-morning, and Natalie had insisted on feeding them lunch for their troubles the previous evening. From inside the house came happy voices and laughter, Lyn and Florina opting to help prepare the food. Dorcas had brought Kent and Sain both to the small village’s blacksmith to get their horses properly shod for the rough mountain terrain, leaving Mark and Wil alone with the women. Not that either young man really minded; there was a rare sense of camaraderie and genuine friendship among the Legion. Things were still somewhat strained between him and Lyn, but everyone else got along just fine. Although, Mark had noticed the young swordswoman paying him extra attention since his recent brush with death during the bandit fight the previous evening.

With a long sigh Mark let his head droop, looking down at the dirt and running a hand through his hair.

“What am I doing here?” he asked himself.

“Sitting, looks like.”

Mark glanced up, a smiling Wil looking down at him as the archer leaned one shoulder against the wall of the small house.

“Copper for your thoughts?” the other man asked.

“My thoughts are worth far more than a single copper coin,” Mark scoffed with a grin.

Wil chuckled, sliding down the wall to settle on the dirt next to him.

“You’ll just have to tell me on credit, then,” Wil chuckled before he asked, “So, what’s on your mind, then?”

Mark smirked, huffing before looking out over the village in silence for a moment.

“I feel out of place,” he admitted.

“Why?” Wil laughed. “Because you’re the sour-puss of the group?”

“Really?” Mark deadpanned. “I’m being serious.”

“Hey, just kidding,” Wil snickered. “Why do you feel so out of place?”

The strategist glared at the archer for a moment before sighing and looking back down.

“I don’t really know,” Mark said. “I just feel like… I don’t know, it’s hard to put into words.”

Wil nodded sagely, looking back out over the village. They sat in silence for a moment, Mark wrestling with his thoughts as Wil watched the scenery.

“You know, I come from a village a lot like this one,” the archer said conversationally. “It’s so small it doesn’t even have a name. It’s just a small hamlet in the shadow of Pherae Castle.”

“Pretend I don’t know where that is,” Mark said, quirking one brow.

“It’s another territory in Lycia,” Wil explained, rolling his eyes. “Further west. That’s where I’m from. Just a nameless little village like this. Looking at this place is making me a little homesick, honestly.”

“You ever regret leaving?” Mark asked.

“No,” Wil said immediately. “I regret a lot of things. But leaving definitely isn’t one of them. Do you?”

“Maybe?” Mark sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I haven’t really stopped to think about it. I don’t think so. There’re no expectations here. Nobody who knows me or my family, nobody to just assume I’m some godlike mage or master swordsman because my ancestors were. Here I’m just me. So, I guess I don’t regret leaving, either.”

“I get that,” Wil nodded. “My old man wanted me to be a farmer.”

“Mine wanted me to be a tactician,” Mark smirked. “Lucky for him, I wanted to be one, too. But I wanted to do it on my terms, you know? Like, my family has been training tacticians the exact same way for generations. I wanted to try something different. Everyone they train ends up the same. I wanted to be… better.”

Mark paused, roughly rubbing his hair before letting out a frustrated sigh.

“This is dumb,” he said. “I barely even know you.”

“Aw, and here I thought we were becoming friends,” Wil said with a grin.

“Don’t push me,” Mark warned. “I haven’t even told Lyn this stuff yet. And I like her.”

“Yeah, what’s going on between you two, anyway?” Wil asked. “One minute you’re not talking to each other, then the next she won’t leave your side. Now you’re not talking again?”

“She’s… been through a lot,” Mark said carefully. “It’s not really my place to say anything. I’m just… I want to help her. But I don’t know how.”

Mark paused for a moment before sighing and letting his head hang a little.

“Apparently there’s a lot I don’t know,” he said quietly.

“So just be there for her,” Wil shrugged. “And if that fails, my pop always said that the best thing to do with a woman is apologize, even when you know you’re right.”

“That’s such bad advice,” Mark snorted.

“He’s got three sisters and been married thirty years, I wouldn’t doubt him when it comes to women,” Wil laughed.

“Sounds like a wise man,” Mark laughed.

“Was that a crack about my pop’s intelligence?” Wil asked, mock-seriously.

“Wisdom and intelligence aren’t mutually exclusive,” Mark smirked. “Something I’m beginning to realize lately.”

Wil chuckled, pushing himself up and dusting the seat of his pants off before slapping the strategist on the shoulder.

“Well, when you’re done brooding come inside for lunch. The girls sent me out to get you.”

“That sounds like some very wise advice,” Mark said, rising himself.

* * *

 

“Okay, I think it’s safe to admit that we’re totally lost,” Mark sighed.

“We’re not lost!” Wil huffed. “Look! The ground’s sloping down westerly. That means we’re going in the right direction. Uh… right?”

“Wil, I swear to whatever gods you worship…” Mark growled in frustration.

“Alright, enough,” Kent interjected.

Mark rolled his eyes but let the latest in a long string of frustration slide. Shooting the archer one last dirty glance Mark resumed walking again, pointedly ignoring how Lyn and Florina were giggling behind their hands at the ‘silly boys’.

They had been travelling for another three days after leaving Natalie back in her village, along with the majority of Mark’s own coins as a deposit for Dorcas’ services as a mercenary. Lyn had promised to repay him as soon as she could, but Mark wasn’t overly worried about the money; it was going hungry that was his main concern, but that was a problem that could be solved without little ingots of shiny metal. So far Dorcas had proved to be an adept tracker and trapper, although Wil still contributed with his bow; annoying as the archer was, he was still a good shot. So, Mark wasn’t in any danger of going hungry any time soon, at the very least.

No, what was truly dangerous was falling and dying thanks to Wil’s ‘directions.’

Rather than trust the local Dorcas, as Mark had very loudly suggested they do, Lyn seemed more than content to follow Wil’s lead through the mountain trails. Since both of the Knights were technically in service to Lyn’s grandfather, and therefore her, they supported her decision. Florina had abstained from voicing an opinion, choosing instead to hide behind her pegasus while they were ‘discussing’ their route, and Dorcas had simply watched on serenely. And so once again democracy had fallen prey to nepotism, and Lyn had opted to follow Wil’s lead.

They had emerged from the last of the peaks that morning, and with steady and careful progress were being led by Wil to the forest at the base of the mountain.

“We are not lost!” Wil assured them. “I came this way when I came into the mountains, I’m sure of it!”

“You were lost when you came into the mountains, you said so yourself!” Mark seethed.

“I think somebody just has issues with not being the one in charge,” Sain chuckled.

“Sain, don’t make it worse,” Kent said from next to the other knight.

The green-clad knight just smirked, holding up his hands in surrender. Both men, to Mark’s great irritation, were still mounted.

“Don’t you two ever walk anywhere?” Mark asked.

“What do you mean?” Sain asked curiously.

“I mean without the horse beneath you,” Mark explained.

Kent and Sain both exchanged confused looks before Sain leaned forward in his saddle a little.

“I don’t understand the question,” the Knight said.

Mark sighed, glancing over to where Florina was leading her pegasus by the reins next to a grinning Lyn. The smaller girl noticed the strategist’s gaze and squeaked, positioning herself behind Lyn and earning a chuckle from her.

“You know what, forget I asked,” Mark sighed, shaking his head.

Kent and Sain both shrugged, advancing further up the small road atop their mounts. A grinning Wil sauntered up next to Mark, hands resting behind his head.

“Knights, eh?” the archer said.

“Shut up and figure out where we are,” Mark groaned.

“Touchy, touchy,” Wil laughed.

“Alright, I think that’s enough picking on our poor strategist for one day,” Lyn laughed.

Mark gave another long groan, running a hand through his hair.

“Lyn, I don’t need you to… you’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

Feigning shock Lyn pressed her fingers to her chest as if offended.

“Me? Why, whatever do you mean, Mark?” she asked with a playful grin.

“Florina! You’re my new best friend!” Mark called out.

The pegasus knight gave another squeak as Mark hitched his pack higher up on his shoulders and quickened his pace to move alongside her. Only to find his way blocked by the angry glare of an over-protective pegasus.

“Oh, even you, too?” Mark growled. “Fine! Dorcas! Dorcas?”

Mark spun around, earning more laughter from Lyn as he looked for the large axeman, finally spotting Dorcas at the head of the group some ways up the road now. Mark gave a defeated groan, shoulders slumping and pack slipping back down to where it had been sitting before.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me,” Lyn giggled. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t tease you so much.”

Mark gave another long sigh, glancing at his friend.

“Is it so wrong that I’m starting to get used to it?” he asked.

Lyn just laughed, swatting him on the shoulder and finally drawing forth a small smirk from the strategist. Things had been improving between the two. After trading apologies for their behavior in the ruins, Mark and Lyn had begun to mend their friendship, and were again as close as they had been before. Lyn did tend to spend more time with Florina, but she was mostly deferring to his judgement again, asking his opinions, and actually speaking to him.

Of course, Mark knew that this was only a front for her; Lyn was still hurting, and every time talk of bandits came up, she became quiet and withdrawn, murder shining in her eyes. Mark had no doubt she would snap again, and had simply resigned himself to damage control when she did. Someone had to keep her alive, after all.

Mark gave a tired sigh as he longingly eyed the forest below them, eager to be in the shade again.

“I’m sick of these mountains,” he grumbled. “They’re cold and windy and… gah! Look at how chapped my lips are! How are none of the rest of you as annoyed as me!?”

“Because we have you to distract us!” Lyn laughed, bumping her shoulder against his as they walked.

A strong gust of wind from high in the mountains blew cold air down at their backs, Lyn shivering as her hair was tossed about. Mark cursed under his breath, brushing his hair back from his face again and turning his head back to glare up at the mountains over his shoulder.

When he was younger and his grandfather had spoken of those lucky, inconsequential moments on the battlefield that saved lives, Mark had put them up to being simple embellishments to entertain children. The job of a tactician, of a strategist, was to prepare for every eventuality; to be ready, to be vigilant, to never be caught unaware. He didn’t believe in fate, in coincidence or in luck.

And in that moment, Mark’s brow furrowed as he watched a lone figure crest the hill and his opinion of ‘luck’ changed.

“Hey! Wil!” the strategist called as a second man appeared on the hill above them.

“We are not lost!” the archer called back.

“Shut up, not important!” Mark snapped, three more men appearing with the first two. “How busy is this road!?”

“I wouldn’t even call it a path, man! Why!?” Wil asked.

“Mark, what’s…” Lyn asked, turning to follow Mark’s gaze as several more figures appeared now.

A massive form, towering above the rest, appeared and held an axe high. With a muted, distant roar the men began to descend after Lyn’s Legion and Mark cursed beneath his breath again as he grabbed Lyn by the hand and began to run.

“Move!” he shouted. “They’ve found us! Florina! Take Lyn, get to the trees! Kent, Sain, go after them! Wil, Dorcas, run! Run! By whatever gods you hold dear, run!”

Lyn resisted a little as Mark pulled, Florina already swinging into her saddle as Kent and Sain urged their mounts down the mountain path.

“Mark, we cannot simply run!” Lyn protested. “The only good bandit is a dead bandit!”

“We’re not running,” he explained between pants. “We’ll be slaughtered in the open like this. We get to the forest where their numbers count for little and our mobility is our strength!”

Mark glanced back over his shoulder, grinning at her as Florina’s mount landed behind them and releasing Lyn.

“Besides, I know better than to argue with you about killing bandits at this point,” he added. “Let’s make some good bandits.”  

Lyn gave him a grim smile in return as she skidded to a stop and whirled up behind Florina in one fluid motion, and then the pegasus was back in the air. The knights were already almost to the forest, meaning only Mark, Wil and Dorcas were left out in the open with the rapidly gaining bandits.

“Damnation, I should’ve given my pack to the girls,” Mark grunted, starting to run again.

* * *

 

Despite the pleasantly cool air in the high altitudes of this particular region of Lycia, Erk still found himself sweating heavily as he pushed through the thick underbrush. Panting and getting dangerously close to being fed-up, he paused for a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow, his thick lavender hair sweat-slick and sticking to his face. He shook out his robes, trying to adjust the flame-colored material over his thin shoulders into a slightly more dignified appearance. These efforts were sabotaged by the thick hood hanging between his shoulder-blades becoming caught on a nearby branch, snagging as soon as he took another step.

“’I want you to get out of the library!’ he said,” the young man grumbled, fighting now with a tree for his robe. “’I want you to see the world!’ he said! ‘You need more practical experience, Erk! You won’t find that in a book!’ Well now look where I bloody-well am! Lost! In the mountains of Lycia! I didn’t even know this country had mountains!”

“Ohhhhhhhh Erk!”

A shudder ran down the young man’s spine as his already heavy frown deepened to a full-blown scowl. With a long sigh he pushed the sweaty hair from his face again, only to shake his head in frustration and deposit that very same hair back where it had been moments ago.

“This is a test,” he muttered to himself. “It has to be. He planned this. He always plans this kind of-”

“Erk! Where are you!?”

“Oh my blessed Saint Elemine, I’m right here!” Erk finally shouted, throwing his head back in his frustration.

A young woman in modest cleric’s robes, panting and just as sweaty and ragged as Erk was, appeared from the underbrush, flipping one sweat-slick pink twintail over her shoulder as she spotted him. Her other hand unceremoniously used her magic staff as a walking stick as she made her way over to the young mage.

“Aw, that’s sweet, Erky-poo, but I don’t think you should blaspheme just because I remind you of the Saint,” she said with a wide smile.

Erk growled, masking the sound with a grunt as he yanked his hood free from the tree.

“Have you found the path yet?” the cleric asked obliviously.

“I am a mage, Serra!” Erk snapped. “Not a tracker or a woodsman or a… a… lumberjack!”

“Ohhh, that means we’re lost!” Serra pouted, stomping her foot. “That makes me so upset!”

“You told me you were certain this was the correct path,” Erk ground out through clenched teeth.

Serra rounded on the young mage, frowning now, too.

“What’s your point, Erk!?” she snapped. “What are you trying to say!?”

Erk opened his mouth to reply and tell her exactly what he thought of her overbearing pigheadedness, but caught himself and took a deep breath instead. He turned away, massaging his temples and muttering to himself as he tried to force himself to calm down.

“I swear you are not the woman I agreed to escort…”

“What?” Serra asked, quirking her head to one side curiously. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I was told I was to escort a frail Lycian priestess to Ostia!” Erk groaned.

“Yes, and I’m that priestess!” Serra said with great cheer.

“You are anything but frail!” Erk growled accusingly. “Serra, you have no need of any escort to protect you. Even the most hardened criminal would flee in terror after five minutes in your company. I’ll return your money. Gladly. Now, will you please go on to Ostia alone? As in, without me?”

“No!” Serra shouted, almost before Erk had stopped talking. “No, you’re my escort, Erk! Mine!”

The young mage was actually taken aback by the sudden anger in the young woman’s voice, but Serra cleared her throat and flipped her hair over her shoulder again, favoring Erk with a toothy, superior smile.

“You’re so clean and tidy, even out here lost in the woods,” she said, looking him up and down. “A noblewoman like myself can’t be seen without a proper escort. Your personality’s nothing special, but you’re not bad to look at.”

Erk sighed again, feeling a headache coming on.

“I believe that’s my line,” he said, glaring at her. “And I have to take you all the way to Ostia? I only hope my nerves can endure the journey.”

“What are you mumbling about?” Serra snapped. “You’re so gloomy!”

Serra abruptly turned her head towards the forest ahead of them, forgetting Erk for a moment.

“Hm? Something’s happening over there. Let’s take a look!”

And with that, the young cleric was gone into the underbrush again, leaving Erk standing alone with his mouth open to speak the warning that was still now on the tip of his tongue. With another long sigh he closed both his mouth and his eyes, shaking his head.

“Ah. Of course,” he sighed. “The first opportunity to get involved in trouble, and she jumps right in. No amount of experience is worth this, Master, I hope you know that.”

Shaking his head again he began to follow after the irritating cleric. If nothing else, he hadn’t been able to clearly quit yet, so he still felt beholden to her.

“Oh, Serra, maybe you shouldn’t go running off through the strange forest like that,” he muttered to himself, before adopting a slightly higher-pitched tone. “Why, you’re absolutely right, Erk, I should just shut up and follow you silently for the rest of the journey!”

Erk stopped for a moment, long enough for his shoulders to droop as he looked up to the heavens.

“Gods above, what am I doing with my life?” he groaned.

When no answer was forthcoming Erk sighed again and continued following Serra.

 

* * *

Mark, Dorcas and Wil didn’t take long to reach the forest themselves; once they began to hear the hooting and shouting it provided a considerable motivation to run faster and not fall. That was the first thing his mother had taught him about the battlefield, after all; _“don’t fall. If you fall, you’re dead.”_

Arriving at the tree-line last, Mark was somewhat surprised to see Dorcas and Wil both waiting for him. Wil had an arrow nocked and ready, aiming back up at the bandits even though they were still out of range, and Dorcas stuck out his hand.

“Too slow,” the big man grunted. “Give me your pack.”

“You can’t carry it and fight, I’ve got it,” Mark grumped, hitching the pack back up on his shoulders.

“Less talk, more run,” Wil said. “They’re getting closer!”

Mark took a deep breath and turned away, the loamy scent of the earth in the shade of the trees a welcome change from the dry, cold air of the mountains. He spotted flashes of red and green through the trees, Kent and Sain’s armor standing out even in the shadowy forest.

“Fire a warning shot and let’s get to the others,” he said, beginning to walk.

Dorcas followed immediately as Wil let loose his arrow, one of the bandits crying out as the projectile struck him in the stomach.

“I said a warning shot!” Mark growled as they all started running again.

“I’m sorry, I’m still getting used to this bow!” Wil defended.

“Less talk, more run,” Dorcas grunted from behind them.

Mark glanced back, surprised to see the big man purposely positioning himself between them and the bandits. For a mercenary, Dorcas seemed to be almost strangely loyal.

“Over here!” Lyn called out.

The young swordswoman waved from a small copse of trees, the Manni Katti already in her hand as she scanned the forest behind them. Through the trees Mark could see the majority of the bandits slowing as the biggest, ugliest man the strategist had ever seen began to shout orders at them.

“Well, these guys look like they know what they’re doing,” he said with a frown.

“What do we do, then?” Lyn asked impatiently.

Mark looked around at the assembled fighters, a plan formulating in his head.

“Kent, Sain, take opposite sides,” he said, pointing left and right. “Dorcas, Lyn and I will be the main line; once you see them engage with us, come riding in as fast as you can around the trees to take them in a classic pincer attack. Wil, Florina, stick to our rear and make whatever hits you can. This is going to get really nasty, really fast, and I don’t want either of you too exposed. Whoever’s in charge of the bandits this time looks like they mean business, so be careful. Questions?”

“What do we do after the pincer attack?” Kent asked smartly.

“Good question,” Mark nodded, glancing over his shoulder again. “We pull back further into the forest, make for those three pines that are growing close together over there. You all see them? That’s our rally point. Once we get an opening we’ll pull back to there.”

“Incoming!” Wil warned.

Mark looked around the archer, shouting “Go!” to the lingering knights, and watching as roughly twenty bandits came crashing into the trees. The strategist’s eyes widened when he realized that it was barely a quarter of the enemy force, the rest still waiting on the mountain path with the big, ugly bandit leader. The bandits crashed through the forest like a pack of loosed hounds, whooping and braying and destroying everything in their paths. By the time Mark looked up Kent and Sain were already riding into the forest, and with a deep breath the strategist grabbed Wil by the scruff and dragged him back into the copse.

“You are an archer,” he said to the other man. “You stay behind the front line.”

“You know what, I’m not even going to argue,” Wil chuckled nervously.

“Keep an eye on him, Florina,” Mark said, already darting back to where Lyn and Dorcas were waiting.

Wil looked up at the pegasus knight at the same time Florina glanced down at him, the timid girl giving a small squeak and trying in vain to hide behind her lance. Wil rolled his eyes and chuckled, already nocking another arrow and waiting for a shot.

Mark shoved back into line between Dorcas and Lyn, the two warriors making space for the less-confident strategist, even as he pulled his rapier from its sheathe. Dorcas was as serene and immovable as ever, but Mark could tell that Lyn was barely holding it together. She ground her teeth, jaw set and eyes wide as she kneaded the Manni Katti’s hilt; Mark knew this stance, recognized these signs. Without any regard to the bandits charging at them, Mark put his hand on Lyn’s shoulder. She jumped, turning to look at him with wild eyes. Mark nodded once, letting her know that he was there, and went back to watching the bandits. Beside him he heard Lyn take a long, shuddering breath to calm herself. It was better than nothing, but they were out of time.

Dorcas met the first of the bandits with a bellow like an ox, his axe catching the man mid-leap and sending the bandit crashing aside in a gout of blood. Lyn moved to take his place as Dorcas followed his swing’s momentum, filling the gap with a vengeful scream and striking with mercurial quickness, almost single-handedly stopping the enemy’s charge. Not wanting to be left out, Mark struck at the bandits on Lyn’s left flank, not succeeding in doing much but keep the men at bay with his clumsy, rushed thrusting. Wil’s arrows flew past him, Florina urging her mount forward to assist the slower Dorcas. The young pegasus knight was all business as she began to lunge at the bandits around the large axe-fighter, her slim lance helping corral the bandits back towards Dorcas and Lyn’s waiting blades.

Then Kent and Sain crashed into the bandit formation’s flanks, surprising even Mark with the speed and ferocity of their assault, bandits falling to their swords or simply being trampled beneath their chargers’ hooves.

“Now!” Mark cried above the fighting. “Fall back! Back to the rally point!”

The two knights wheeled their mounts around, tugging at their reins one-handed as they continued striking with their swords. Florina’s pegasus simply flapped its large wings, Dorcas ducking aside as the gust of wind buffeted the bandits, blowing dirt and detritus up into their faces. Wil was already in motion, darting back towards the trees Mark had pointed out earlier and stopping every few steps to take another shot at the bandits. Lyn, however, continued to fight unabated, pressing the advantage that the others’ parting blows had left.

“Lyn!” Mark cried again, hesitating with her. “I said fall back!”

 The swordswoman actually snarled as she turned, her blade flashing in a fine mist of blood even as she did. The rage on her face almost cowed Mark, but the strategist didn’t hesitate, reaching out and grabbing her around the arm before yanking her back.

“We need to move before we’re cut off!” he explained, dragging her back.

“I know!” Lyn snapped, yanking her arm free.

Mark bit his tongue as they began to race towards the others, the remaining bandits falling back in the face of the Legion’s defense. In the distance Mark could actually hear the other bandits hooting and laughing, calling insults as their wounded allies made their way back out of the forest, and it sickened him.

He and Lyn fell into place around Dorcas, Florina and Wil behind them with their backs pressed to the trees, Kent and Sain flanking the group to either side. No one appeared wounded, although all of them were breathing heavily and high on adrenaline. Small mercies, Mark couldn’t help thinking.

* * *

 

Erk panted through clenched teeth, ignoring the small branches that scraped and tore at his arms in his haste to catch Serra before she could do anything overly-stupid. Again. The cleric had slowed, almost bouncing as she attempted to see through the foliage, even as she continued to press through it. Erk didn’t need to see, though, to know that there was fighting on the other side of this thicket; fighting he’d much rather avoid.

“Serra! Get back here!” Erk hissed desperately.

His robe snagged on another branch, making the mage wonder just how, in any deity’s name, Serra still looked so damned regal as he stopped to yank the tattered garment free.

Unfortunately, this momentary distraction proved his undoing as Serra stepped out of the thicket, her high voice practically echoing around the forest.

“Wow! A fight! A fight! Erk! Take a look! Fighting those bandits… It’s a young girl!”

“Fool! Keep your voice down!” he all but snarled as he finally managed to wrap his hand around Serra’s arm.

The cleric turned to him with a mixture of shock and irritation on her face, opening her mouth to no doubt ceaselessly berate him for daring lay a hand on her most noble personage, but she froze when the bandits inevitably spotted them.

“Dearest Elimine, give me strength…” Erk almost sobbed as he pushed through the last of the thicket.

 “Hey! Look, there’s more of em!”

Serra went pale, whipping around to look at the bandits advancing through the forest so fast one of her long pigtails slapped Erk across the face.

“Erk! Why did you lead us directly into the bandits!?” Serra shrieked in alarm.

Erk gave a frustrated growl, shoving the source of his ire protectively behind him as he pulled his spellbook from its pouch and began to channel mana. Fortunately, these mountains appeared to be close to a major ley line and the spell came easily to him, magic fire warming his fingertips within seconds, the familiar incantation a mere whisper on his lips as energy thrummed through his spellbook and into his physical shell, magic slowly coalescing as-

“Erk I don’t wanna die!”

In accompaniment to her shrill declaration the cleric grabbed hold of Erk’s shoulders, positioning him like a shield in front of her and breaking his concentration. His arms flailed as he tried desperately to keep his balance, a half-formed spell flying off in the vague direction of the bandits. Rather than the satisfying explosion he’d been casting for a simple fireball hit one of the bandits square in the chest, the man yelping in alarm before giving a longer, more protracted scream as his clothes took light and he began to futilely beat at the magical flames. Erk frowned, panting slightly out of breath; his magical misfire had cost him far more energy than he had intended.

“You there! Are you out of your minds!?”

The scathing censure Erk had been planning for his companion’s theatrics died on his lips at the shout, the group Serra had been pointing out earlier finally now catching his attention. A man not much older than them waved them over, the blood-stained woman at his side eyeing them warily.

“Come on,” Erk growled, leading the cleric towards the new group. “And stay behind me.”

Moving quickly, wary of the bandits who were lurking just outside of the forest, Erk led Serra to the second group. The young man who had spoken before, the one with messy brown hair that matched his green-trimmed leather coat, stepped forward, casting a furtive glance of his own to the bandits before speaking.

“Don’t know who you are, don’t care, if you’re fighting the bandits, too, we could use a hand,” the man said, speaking quickly. “I’m Mark and-”

“Oh, hi Mark!” Serra all but squealed, slipping out from behind Erk.

Erk blustered for a moment as the man gave them both a blank look, Serra practically skipping up to the strangers. To add insult to injury she also tossed her staff to Erk, the mage almost dropping his spellbook in his haste to catch the fragile healing instrument.

Serra didn’t even notice as she smiled her wide Cheshire smile, clasping her hands behind her back and leaning forward just a tad to emphasize her chest. She had done the same thing to Erk when they had first met. It hadn’t done anything but annoy him. This strange man looked at an utter loss for how to react, and Erk gave a sigh.

“My name’s Serra and this is my bodyguard Erk! Say, would you mind helping me deal with the terrible ruffians?” Serra asked, her face set in a perfectly crafted pout. “I would be ever so grateful. Pretty please?”

“What?” the man, Mark evidently, deadpanned.

“Ugh, later,” Erk groaned, shoving Serra’s staff back into the pouting cleric’s hands. “Give me a moment.”

With that, Erk began to cast the spell Serra had interrupted once more. He shut out thoughts of all of the others, shut out thoughts of bandits and even of his harridan of an employer. Mana from the air, from the trees and from the very earth surged to heed his call and once more he muttered the incantation he knew by heart. A spark leapt in his outstretched palm, quickly becoming a flame. He ignored the sounds of approaching bandits, the shouts of danger. Mana swirled, causing his cloak to ripple as if blown from beneath by a strong wind, and when Erk opened his eyes he swept his hand before him.

“Burn!” he snarled.

Flames leapt to life, spreading out in an arc before him with a satisfying sound of rushing air and crackling underbrush. The odd warriors and knights looked on with wide eyes as Erk grinned slightly at his handiwork. He had even, miraculously, managed to silence both Serras.

Erk blinked. Two Serras? One was already more than enough.

Then, as he tried to turn to face both copies of his employer Erk felt the unmistakable dizzy nausea of mana fatigue.

As he fell flat on his face, Erk used his last few seconds of consciousness to reflect that perhaps he had over-done his spell a little.

* * *

 

Watching with no small amount of awe as the flames consumed everything in their path, Mark had to fight down the urge to giggle like an idiot. He had honestly not had an out this time. His only plan had been to leapfrog through the forest like they had been, slowly chipping away at the bandits and hope their luck held in the face of the bandits’ superior numbers. Fortunately, fate had a funny way of dropping exactly what he needed into his lap lately. With this powerful a mage at their back they could-

“Erk? Erk!”

Mark whirled at the Serra’s cry, just in time to see the unconscious Erk collapse like a felled tree.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me!” Mark groaned.

The cleric froze, clearly unsure what to do in this situation. In the distance bandits screamed as the fire began to spread through their ranks, fanned by the lush forest and the strong mountain winds. The stink of burning vegetation and flesh was strong in the smoky air, and Mark had to resist the urge to cough.

“Not what I was expecting, but we can work with it,” he called to the others. “Someone grab wonder-mage here and let’s get out of here!”

“What happened to ‘the only good bandit is a dead bandit’?” Lyn asked coldly.

“I’ll settle for bandits not actively trying to kill us,” Mark shrugged. “Lyn, the forest is on fire. I know you-”

The rest of the strategist’s words were lost as he was suddenly hit in the side. The blow lifted him off his feet, throwing him to the ground as his rapier clattered noisily against a nearby tree. Pain shot up his side, right arm refusing to respond to his commands as he tried to rise. He felt moisture on his shirt, and with a start realized it was blood. He was bleeding.

A strange, calm sort of focus gripped Mark as he glanced up to see the huge, ugly bandit who had been shouting orders earlier step through the smoke. The big man’s clothes were singed and minor burns covered his bare arms and shoulders, but they didn’t look to be slowing him down.

“You little bastards!” the bandit snarled.

Sain and Kent both urged their mounts forward at the same time, but the bandit spun and tore a burning branch from a nearby tree, swinging it back round to spook the warhorses. Both reared up, their eyes wide even as the knights astride the beasts tried desperately to reign them in. Terrified by the smoke and the flames, the warhorses took off deeper into the forest with the knights still astride them.

“I’ll kill all of ya!” the bandit slurred, slipping between the two horses.

Dorcas moved, bringing his axe up from near his hip as he stepped forward. The bandit moved faster, catching the weapon with the flaming branch and headbutting the big axeman. Dorcas stumbled backwards, the bandit adding a kick to his knee for good measure before bringing his own axe up. A splash of hot blood pattered to the forest floor as the bandit sliced through Dorcas’ shoulder, the big man throwing himself aside at the last moment to avoid a fatal blow. Wil appeared above Dorcas, firing an arrow point-blank to bury itself in the bandit’s shoulder. The mountainous man ignored the projectile, swiping Wil aside with his axe. The archer yelped as he fell, cracking his head against a protruding stone and lying still atop his bow.

“Do you whelps even know who I am!?” the bandit sneered. “I’m Bug! I am the Ganelon bandits!”

“Then they die with you!” Lyn cried, leaping forward.

The young Sacaean actually vaulted the fallen Dorcas, bringing her sword down on the bandit’s axe and forcing him back a step.

With a high-pitched, wordless cry Florina rushed in to support Lyn, too, her pegasus coming alongside the bandit and folding his wing down out of his rider’s way. Florina actually struck downwards instead of lunging, knocking the flaming branch from the bandit’s grasp before flicking the tip back up at his face and forcing the bandit back further.

Mark gave a small cough, holding onto his ribs and distressingly feeling the blood running out from between his fingers. He swallowed bile as he fumbled with his remaining hand for one of their stock of vulneraries, uncorking the vial with his teeth and taking a long drink from it. He knew that the small potion wouldn’t be enough, but he had to do something to stop the bleeding.

“Lay still!” the cleric, Serra, demanded, suddenly kneeling at his side.

Her face was pale and her eyes wide, but still she held her staff out over Mark’s wounds. A faint golden glow began to spread from the head of the staff over Mark’s wounds, and he winced as he felt the flesh begin to knit together. After only a few moments the bleeding stopped and Mark took a full breath, instantly regretting it as he began to choke on the smoke.

“I’m fine, get to Dorcas!” Mark spluttered, waving her off. “The big guy! Over there! Stay low!”

Serra just nodded rushing over to where Dorcas lay bleeding onto the forest floor. Mark groaned, beginning to drag himself towards his sword with his good hand. His other was still slick with blood, still limp, and no doubt would be for quite some time.

As this was happening Lyn and the bandit Bug traded blows on the edge of the flaming forest. Lyn gave no quarter, snarling like a beast as her sword flashed silver through the smoke, but Bug was clearly no amateur like the rest of his men had been. He dodged and weaved far faster than a man his size had any right to, ducking back just far enough to let Lyn’s blade pass by before striking with his own large axe. Florina darted about, striking when she could, and had drawn several small cuts on Bug’s arms and shoulders, but like the man’s burns, these went ignored. Every time the small pegasus knight pressed in she found herself pushed back, her mount wheeling and launching them back up into the trees.

Lyn, for all her speed and ferocity, was being pushed back, though. For every glancing hit she landed Bug blocked three more. The bandit’s blows were heavy and slow, but every one he did manage to connect even glancingly was enough to cause the girl serious damage. Blood ran from a cut on her scalp, painting half her face red. A slice on her leg saw Lyn favoring her right side, stumbling as she backpedaled.

“Gonna kill you for killing my boys!” Bug growled dangerously.

Lyn gnashed her teeth, pushing forward again, but Bug stopped her cold when he caught her sword hand by the wrist. Her eyes widened as Bug sneered down at her for a moment. Then the bandit brought his foot up and kicked Lyn, hard, in the stomach. He didn’t let go of her arm, though, and Mark could hear the sickening pop of overextended joints through the trees. Then Lyn screamed, falling to her knees as Bug wrenched her arm again, the opposite direction as before. The huge bandit released Lyn, kicking out at her shoulder and sending her sprawling. To Mark’s amazement, she still hadn’t dropped the Mani Katti.

“Been doing this a long, long time,” Bug snarled. “You’ll- argh!”

Florina’s thin lance burst suddenly through the bandit’s shoulder, the man giving a strangled grunt as it was drawn back out. Bug spun as Florina, tears streaming down her smoke-blackened face, roared and prepared to strike again. Bug side-stepped the blow, catching the spear under his arm and holding the weapon’s shaft firm against his body. He twisted at the hip, and with a yelp Florina was flung from her saddle and into the dirt. Bug pivoted back, slapping Florina’s pegasus across the muzzle with the haft of the spear he still held and spooking the creature back into flight.

“I was a knight in Bern, girly,” Bug growled. “You’ll have to do a damn sight better’n that.”

The bandit stomped over to where Florina was desperately trying to rise, the wind having been knocked from her when she fell. Bug mercilessly kicked her in the ribs, flipping Florina onto her back before stamping down hard on her forearm.

Florina’s piercing shriek almost deafened Mark as he finally reached his sword. With a groan Mark pushed himself to his feet against the closest tree, head swimming from the smoke and the blood loss.

Lyn flung herself off the ground, the Mani Katti clutched in her off-hand as she barreled towards the bandit, only to be sent sprawling with a vicious backhand.

“Stop!”

Bug’s ugly face snapped around at the cry, finding Serra standing trembling before him. She held her staff out like a lance, the healing instrument actually trembling in her grip as her lip quivered. Her voice shook as Bug took a step towards her, but still she spoke authoritatively.

“I am a priestess of Saint Elimine’s church in Ostia, the daughter of Eturian nobility! And you… you will cease this violence at once in the Saint’s name!”

“Will I, now?” Bug rumbled, his beady eyes narrowing. “Here was me thinkin’ I’d just kill the men and have my way with you three. Then I’ll give you to my boys that didn’t run away from the fire.”

Serra’s pale face went a shade lighter, the cleric taking a terrified step backwards in the face of Bug’s cruel smile.

Suddenly, the bandit gave a choking scream, Lyn’s sword piercing his thigh. With a pained grunt Lyn twisted the blade, widening the hole from where she had crawled over to Bug. He looked down in time for Florina’s lance to again bury itself halfway down his back, the pegasus knight’s face a mask of pain and desperation as she forced the weapon deeper into the man’s broad back. Judging from the way Bug froze and gaped, Florina’s blow had hit something important.

Bug fell sideways as Florina withdrew her lance, landing on one knee and pushing himself away from a wrathful Lyn. He crawled on his back a few feet, suddenly finding himself in Mark’s shadow. Looking up, Bug squinted in confusion until Mark brought his rapier down, point-first, into his heart.

“You want the girls, you cheap-shotting son of a bitch?” Mark growled. “You go through me first. Not so easy when I’m actually paying attention… is it?”

Bug gurgled, his response lost as blood frothed from his mouth. Mark stared dispassionately down at the bandit for another few seconds before jerking his sword free and turning to the sound of hoofbeats approaching.

“Milady Lyndis!” Kent cried.

“Lady Lyn! Lady Florina!” Sain echoed.

Mark coughed, ducking low away from the smoke. The crackling heat alone was almost suffocating as flames licked at the trees.

“Grab the wounded!” he called above the fire. “Take Lyn and Florina! We need to get away from this fire!”

Kent and Sain both leapt from the mounts, scooping up the girls in question before helping them up into their saddles. It was a sign of just how injured Lyn was that she didn’t object once as Kent lifted her up. Mark turned to Serra, the cleric having sunk to her knees on the forest floor as she stared aghast at the body of the bandit that had nearly killed them all.

A single bandit. One man had run roughshod over the entirety of Lyn’s Legion.

“Erk?” Serra asked in a small voice, looking up. “Erk!?”

“I have him,” Dorcas said calmly.

Mark looked over to the axeman, who had Erk slung over one shoulder and Wil on the other. Dorcas looked paler than usual, but didn’t seem to be in too much pain. Keeping low, Mark rushed over and retrieved Wil’s bow and Erk’s spellbook before turning back to help Serra up.

“Come on, we have to go,” he said urgently, offering her his hand.

Serra nodded, allowing herself to be pulled up and then led through the forest. Mark only looked back to make sure that Dorcas was following, but still catching sight of the flames from the fire Erk had started consuming the body of the bandit, Bug. Hopefully now, without their leader, the Ganelon Bandits would be no more.

* * *

 

That evening the small group, with the addition of an exhausted mage and cleric, made camp around a small fire. They had chosen a small clearing in a field to set up, wary of the light and the smoke still rising from the forest they had left behind on the mountains.

The two travelers, Erk and Serra, were sleeping across the fire, somewhat separated from the rest of Lyn’s Legion. Erk had come around during their flight, waking in a confused daze and loudly enquiring as to why he was slung over Dorcas’ shoulder like a bag of grain. He was still resting, sleeping off his mana fatigue, which Mark knew would take at least a week of recovery. Serra was exhausted, too, having graciously volunteered to heal the injuries the Legion had sustained in her defense. It had taken hours, but she had seen to everyone, and now she was exhausted herself.  

Kent had been beside himself with shame for allowing Lyn to be hurt, Sain oddly subdued as he held the wounded Florina. The two knights had set up the simple camp and the fire alone, allowing the wounded their rest. Even now Kent was still on watch while a stone-faced Sain set about repairing and cleaning the group’s weapons, the knights so consumed with guilt that they probably wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway.

Wil had awoken once they had set up camp, the archer groggy and concussed even as Serra fussed over him. Dorcas had simply settled onto the bedroll his wife had put in his pack before they had left the village and almost instantly fallen asleep. He hadn’t even stirred when Serra had double-checked his own healed wounds. It had taken both Kent and Sain to turn the large axeman onto his side so that Serra could see the back of his shoulder, much to Mark’s silent amusement.

Lyn and Florina sat together still, the young pegasus knight curled up beside Lyn and using her lap as a pillow, both girls resting against the off-white flank of Florina’s mount. The pegasus Makar had returned almost as soon as they left the forest, swooping down to Florina’s side instantly and glaring at Sain the whole way to their current campground. Florina had been quieter than normal since the fight, silently crying on and off as Lyn comfortingly stroked her hair until the younger girl had finally fallen asleep.

For her part, Lyn had been utterly silent, responding only to direct questions in clipped, cold tones.

Mark let out a soft sigh as he sunk to a sitting position next to her, avoiding disturbing either Florina or the pegasus the girls were using as their pillow. He held a small bowl of the weak soup that Kent had prepared earlier in one hand, the travelling pot with the rest of the meal in it still sitting by the fire.

“Doesn’t feel much like a victory, does it?” he asked softly, wary of waking the others.

Lyn remained silent, and Mark took the opportunity to sip at his soup. There were a few scraggly mountain vegetables that had been diced up for the soup, but they all tasted vaguely of dirt to him, so he was content to simply sip the warming broth as they stared at the fire.

“Mark… I…” Lyn started, her voice hoarse.

He glanced up from the fire, watching as Lyn delicately stroked Florina’s hair. The younger girl sniffled, still crying even in her sleep.

“Today… we cannot let it happen again,” Lyn said slowly. “We all almost died. And… having achieved nothing.”

“We were ambushed,” Mark sighed. “It happens.”

Lyn let out a small breath of her own, hand stilling on Florina’s brow.

“I have a grandfather, Mark,” she said softly. “It… isn’t like before. I cannot simply throw myself at bandits, hoping…”

“Hoping what?” Mark prompted, looking back to his soup.

“To find an honorable end,” Lyn admitted softly. “We… I… cannot do this again.”

The tactician looked up at the hitch in Lyn’s voice. His eyes widened when he realized that Lyn had tears running from her own eyes now.

“I cannot do this any longer,” she said shakily. “I do not want… I do not want to die. I do not want to do this again.”

She looked up, her gaze piercing Mark as they sat by the fireside.

“Please, Mark,” Lyn pleaded. “Help me. Help me make sure that this doesn’t happen again.”

Mark nodded, setting the empty bowl aside as he turned to face her.

“Lyn, you’ve been alone for so long,” he said quietly. “You’re not alone anymore. We’re going to do this. Together. You and me, and the rest of the Legion, here, too. We’re all with you.”

Lyn sniffled and nodded again, chuckling a little in embarrassment.

“Thank you, Mark,” she said softly. “I know… you have been very patient with me. But I think I’m finally ready to… ready to listen.”

“Good, I was getting sick of yelling at you,” Mark smirked.

They sat in companionable silence for a time, only the sounds of the night and the small fire as their backdrop, both youths lost in their own thoughts.

“You know what this means, though, right?” Mark asked after a time.

Lyn looked up questioningly, her eyelids heavy with fatigue.

“It means that we all have to start training,” Mark explained with a small grin.

Lyn nodded, smiling again.

“I think I would like to train with you,” she admitted. “I will be your peerless warrior, Mark.”

“And I’ll be your master tactician,” he smiled back. “And this is where it all starts.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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